


No Masters Here

by Jaili



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Dungeons & Dragons, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Hydra wins, Alternate Universe - Monsters, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - The Purge Fusion, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Bad Guys Win, Dark Fic Fest, F/M, Heroes to Villains, Rape/Non-con Elements, Villains, Violence, depicted reader isn't necessarily a good person either
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2019-09-20 22:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 117,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17030961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaili/pseuds/Jaili
Summary: This is going to be a collection of short stories / drabbles revolving around villains of various different universes.  Do you like bad guys?  Me too, I might even take some good guys and make them bad guys too, if the mood strikes me.  Warnings will be posted at the start of each story but rest assured there will be creepy/terrible things in here, ye be warned.Goal of this work:  create a series of stories with different characters and settings, first post focusing on laying out the groundwork for future chapters, then continue these individual stories at my leisure.Explicit chapters marked with an *I do my best to avoid using Y/N or any variations of that because I find it jarring but if I do have to use it, it's just Y/N





	1. Dark Horse(RollinsxReader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Purge!AU + Vampire!AU - dude vampires are perfect for the purge universe  
> human!reader, vampire!rollins  
> TAGS: creepy vampire vein loving, graphic violence, noncon blood drinking, no smut  
> Summary: Reader is anti-purge in that she goes out and purges the purgers and protects people who manage to get stuck outside during purge night. Rollins is a vampire who is just loving this interesting blip in history. He's the ultimate hunter and always looking for a challenge.

"Have yourself a great purge tonight, missy!" The shopkeeper grinned at you as you hefted your bag of last minute purchases, you bit your tongue and gave him a sharp nod. Stupid fanatics.

 

The sun was hanging low in the LA sky by the time you were finished having what might be your last dinner and were settled on your rooftop perch, compound bow resting in your hands, quiver on your back and black outfit warding off the approaching chill. No matter how many years you did this, it never got easier to tamp down the sense of dread before that horrible wailing siren went off.

 

You already spotted several other shooters on nearby rooftops, but nobody ever tried to get to the top of the church you always picked. As demented as these murderers were, they still held some things sacred, apparently. Hanging in the shadow of the bell tower, you reached into your duffle bag and readied a small grappling gun, clipping it to your belt and double-checking the ka-bar knife on the opposite side and the small pistol strapped to your thigh.

 

You hunkered down and pulled out a granola bar to nibble on as the minutes ticked by, idly scanning over the few heads you could see from your current position. The foil tumbled back into the bag as you chewed slowly and thoroughly, brows furrowing into a tight knot as you slipped into the grim persona you embraced on this god forsaken night.

 

The siren wail cut through the heavy silence, repeating eerily as the crackle of gunfire and distant screams began almost immediately. Rising to your feet, you tugged an arrow free from its quiver and knocked it, gaze snapping to a man with a sniper rifle and a 6 pack of canned beer sitting beside him. As he took aim at someone else, you took aim at him, the bow creaking gently from the tension.

 

A sharp crack and the empty round popping out of the chamber announced he'd fired at someone and it was all the encouragement you needed to fire at him. The arrow flew with a sharp _thwip_ sound and found its new home inside the man's skull. You didn't bother watching him collapse as you swung around the bell tower and took aim at a pair of women who had already fired a few times, if the rounds at their feet were any indication.

 

Several bullets connected to the concrete and roof tiles around you, the second woman finding you shortly after you felled the first, but she went down only a few moments later. Your hunt had begun, this is what you trained for all year and you certainly weren't going to be taken out on your own turf.

 

You never registered a pair of eyes following your movements as you began to methodically sweep through your chosen route, keeping to the edges of the major activity hub. It was acknowledged as the place where everyone went to kill one another, so changing your own route was unecessary and you had long since calculated every jump, memorized each dark corner.

 

This was the most difficult leap of the night, you reminded yourself as you eyed the rickety fire escape on the opposite side of the alleyway. It was also perhaps the most dangerous, as you had to shoulder your bow and be utterly exposed. Pulling in a steadying breath, you took a few steps back and charged forwards, leaping and letting out a quiet grunt as you clattered into the railing and hung there desperately for a few seconds.

 

A shout down below had you look down in alarm, registering a masked gunman at the mouth of the alley who was already aiming for you. Baring your teeth, you let go of the railing and hung there by one hand, pulling your gun free and taking aim. Almost faster than you could register, a large shape slammed into the gunman, seeming to engulf him and latch on, swallowing his startled cry.

 

Your trigger finger stilled as morbid fascination filled you. He was being bitten, you realized, his gun falling from his fingers as he reverted to primal terror and tried to kick and flail. Of all the disturbing things you had seen over the years, this possibly took the cake. Shaking off the brief horror, you took aim once again and squeezed the trigger twice in quick succession.

 

The large man, leaned over his victim and tearing at his exposed neck like some kind of savage, stumbled sharply when your bullet connected with the meat of his neck just below his jaw, victim falling from his hands as the second bullet found its home in your would-be attackers chest. Your arm was burning from hanging there too long and you'd definitely just killed them both, so you refocused and pulled yourself upwards and initiated the climb.

 

Fuck purge night, you thought with a shiver as you carefully scanned the roof before hopping up and swinging your bow back into your capable hands. There were a few large objects on this roof, so you knocked an arrow and cautiously circled around, making sure you were in the clear of ambushes. You weren't the only person with the bright idea to hunt other rooftop hunters, after all.

 

As you rounded a corner, back a ways so you couldn't be jumped at, your foot brushed against a line and you shouted in surprise and anger as you were pulled from the ground and upended, your arrow flying wild, arrows from your quiver clattering to the ground and the bow falling from your hands as you grasped for your pistol.

 

A cackle from behind had you twisting, the crack of your gun familiar in your ears as a masked woman collapsed, machete dropping from her loosening fingers as she pressed a hand to the wound in her chest.

 

Pain erupted across your back as a crowbar connected to it, sending you swinging and dazed as you snarled and twisted again, but your assailant knocked the heavy steel bar against your wrist and numbed it badly enough the gun slipped from your fingers and clattered to the ground.

 

"We saw you last year, bitch," he rasped, "this is all for you!"

 

Huffing, you curled and deflected the next couple harsh blows as best you could, before he moved in closer to grab for the knife on your belt. In a flash, he was stumbling away with blood cascading down the front of his throat, the blade clenched in your capable hand as you glanced around wildly for any more attackers.

 

"Lucky me," you muttered, dangling by your one ankle awkwardly as you curled up and tried to remove the wire, but it was all steel cable and you couldn't reach up high enough to remove your weight from the line, you were stuck and completely vulnerable. Cursing softly, you grasped the wire just above your foot and tried to saw through it with your knife.

 

The knife was incredibly sharp, but the only progress you were making was dulling that edge. You were growling in frustration by the time you heard a loud crunch, gasping as you were sent crashing to the ground and landing on top of your bow and gun. A pained moan escaped you as you scrabbled for the gun and looked towards where the line had come loose.

 

No one was there. In fact, there was an unsettling silence that sent tingles of cold down your back. Warily, you pulled the cable towards you until you grasped the end in your free hand, glancing at the heavy bolt that had been buried several inches into concrete. Someone ripped this out, you realized, brows furrowing, because there was no way in hell it fell loose.  There was powdered concrete on it from top to bottom, it had been tightly sealed in place.

 

Unnerved, you tossed the wire aside and climbed off of your gear, pulling the wire free from your ankle and wincing as you put your weight on it while recovering your weapons. As you picked up one of your scattered arrows, you paused. In a pool of darkness, you swore you saw a flicker of red.

 

Gritting your teeth, you redoubled your pace and were soon hobbling towards the next roof. Your arrows were almost gone, you'd be taking this hunt to the ground soon. Probably for the best, given you were in no shape to be jumping around now.

 

Could it be so ridiculous to think that someone might be watching your back for a change?

 

You'd hit the ground fighting, ambushing a small group that had also ambushed a woman who got caught outside and locked out of her apartment building, for whatever reason. A quick lock picking later, she was thanking you profusely and locking the door behind her.

 

That was when you saw him.

 

A phantom at the edge of your senses, your gaze snapped to him when you recognized the human profile at the opposite end of the parking lot. He didn't look armed, but he was large enough to be a problem up close and clearly aware of you. Normally that wouldn't be a deterrent, but you were out of arrows, he was out of range of the gun and while he wasn't actively moving towards you, you felt a strong sense of being preyed upon.

 

It was when you started seeing him crop up repeatedly that your senses proved as trustworthy as ever. You began evasive maneuvers, all while efficiently dispatching those who got in your way and were clearly out to do some purging of their own, avoiding the large gangs and heavy vehicles while you were at it. All the while you were aware of how far you were veering out of your hunting ground and into unfamiliar territory. Were you being herded somewhere? That was an unpleasant thought.

 

Rounding a corner into an alleyway, you blinked and froze. Half way down was your pursuer, being ganged up on by what looked to be about 5 men with various sharp and blunt weapons. He had slicked back hair, the jacket he had been wearing was laying in a heap on the ground and the black shirt he was wearing confirmed a muscular frame in the way it hugged him. He was also grinning and, despite being clubbed repeatedly from behind, was winning.

 

You sucked in a breath when he threw a man of similar size into the brick wall with one hand, and listened to the combination of crazed anger and rising fear of the men attacking him. He was deflecting and avoiding all the bladed strikes, you noted, and not caring in the slightest about blunt blows. Your fingers were trembling around the repurposed assault rifle in your hands when the last man fell silent, neck snapped.

 

Languidly, he turned to face you, aware of your staring. The blood around his mouth and slathered down his chin and neck were the last confirmation you needed- it was indeed the man you saw earlier. But, you noted with quiet fear, there was no bullet hole in his neck. That was not possible. What you just witnessed was also not possible.

 

3000 newtons of force to snap a neck, done with one hand and without any wrenching. What the _fuck_? You swallowed and refrained from aiming your gun at him. "Are you...hunting them?" You wondered out loud, glancing behind you as you spoke, trying to keep aware of the area.

 

He licked his lips and grinned, and it felt like your stomach dropped out of your body when you saw long fangs and a familiar sullen red sheen in his eyes. "No. Just you, little hunter."

 

That was not what you wanted to hear, so you took aim at him and began to edge towards the opposite side of the alley, extremely keen on getting the hell out of there. "What's so interesting about me?" You hated how your voice cracked on _me,_ and that you were possibly having some kind of supernatural experience. Just your luck.

 

He took a step towards you and your trigger finger itched. "I get bored, you know," he smirked at your aggression, "the purge? A very interesting recent development. I get to hunt the best of the hunters, maybe have a little fun."  His voice was smooth and low.

 

You were seriously wishing for some garlic, stakes and holy water right about now. Your leg muscles ticked restlessly, wanting to back up for every step he took. "I only kill the psychos who are out here to kill other people," you said. Maybe you could convince him to not pop your head off like a dandelion?

 

"That what you tell yourself?" He grinned again, a bright, feral thing.

 

This wasn't working. You pulled the trigger, felt the repeated recoil striking at your arm and shoulder and watched as holes opened up in his center of mass, piercing through his shirt and forcing his heavy body backwards.

 

His grin morphed into a terrifying glare as blood sluggishly bloomed from his new wounds.

 

You didn't need any further coaxing to turn and run like a portal to hell had opened, discarding the now empty gun as you pounded pavement, shedding the weight for more speed. If this guy was a vampire, and at this point there was no reason to think otherwise, as crazy as you felt for that, you needed to get back into your own territory and put a whole lot of bodies between you and that thing, fast.

 

Eventually you discarded the bow and quiver too, sending them clattering to the ground as you held your pistol ready and took out the occasional bloodthirsty wanderer. You eyed the street signs, running yourself ragged towards the hot zone. You were passing a subway entrance when you caught sight of your hunter just ahead, too close for comfort.

 

Diverting as fast and quiet as you could, you flew down the subway stairs and vaguely noted this might just be exactly where the creature planned to lure you. There were maintenance rooms down there in the dark though, heavy steel doors that weren't going to budge for anything less than door cutting tools or battering rams. You just needed to find one.

 

Taking a deep breath, you hopped down to the tracks with a wince, your ankle was blazing, and pulled a small flashlight out of your belt. Flicking it on, you began your trek.

 

Every hair on your body prickled upwards when a laugh echoed up from behind you.

 

You fumbled your gun into its holster. If he didn't die to 6 shots to the chest from an assault rifle then a pistol wasn't going to do anything. The heart was vulnerable, right? That was one thing that was always consistent in the stories about vampires. You drew your knife while moving at a power walk, too tired to truly run and wanting enough energy to at least put up a fight when that hellish thing caught up.

 

Relief overpowered your terror briefly when you caught sight of a maintenance door. With some huffs and grunts you pulled yourself up over the ledge and stumbled into the door, shaking hands pulling out your lock picks. Your teeth were clenched painfully hard around your flashlight as you tried to concentrate on feeling for the little pins locking in place, pinching your brows together as your heart felt like it was going to burst through your ribs.

 

Stifling your sound of triumph, you slipped inside the moment the lock yielded, pocketing your picks and tugging the light from your mouth, leaning against the wall and just focusing on breathing easy now that you were safe.

 

"Nice choice," that now familiar voice said directly behind you, the door lock clicking with finality.

 

You leaped forwards with a yelp, the light tumbling from your hand and rolling across the floor. The room was little bigger than a supply closet, one wall dedicated to fuses and switches, you were already well within reach of him.

 

"Dark and private. My favorite," his voice had a teasing tone and the truth of his proximity was revealed by the flashlight shining on his boots and illuminating his front dimly. This close, you could see the dried blood on the black fabric. There was a lot of it.

 

Placing your back flat against the wall, you held your knife ready and tried not to heave for breath. "Leave," you said forcefully, glaring up at his dimly lit face. He looked like a grim statue, looming and filling up all the space.

 

"No," he said simply, smirking at the knife held up like a shield. "You should be flattered. There's always a bigger fish, you know? I'm a very special big fish." He leaned forwards as he spoke, testing your limits.

 

You struck, lancing forwards and upwards at his heart with a quiet hiss of breath. It wasn't entirely surprising when his hand caught your wrist in one quick snap and squeezed so hard you dropped the knife instantly. "F-fu-uck," you stuttered, reduced to kicking and flailing as panic gripped you and the knife clattered to the floor.

 

His free hand wound its way around your neck, encompassing it entirely and lifting you up off your feet, slamming your back into the wall hard enough to knock your breath away. You braced your feet on his thighs, trying to weasel out of his grip while prying at his thumb. His flesh was cold, you registered that as he slammed you repeatedly until you were only able to think about how he broke the man's neck like a stick, your need for air, and how your limbs needed more oxygen.

 

As your legs stilled and hands fell away, he eased off the bruising of your back and slid you upwards until his face was level with yours, completely shadowed as the light was pointing away. He was sniffing, you realized, a calloused fingertip tracing up the hidden vein in your wrist as it hung there. "Where's the fun in this?" You whisper-croaked.

 

"The fun part," he licked his lips and pressed in until he was speaking directly into your ear, cool breath making you shiver, "is seeing the moment you realized you caught my attention. Your heart started racing," the fingertip exploring your arm came up and tapped at your heart lightly, "and hasn't stopped since."

 

Your heart _was_ beating so fast and hard it was nearly painful, and the way his broad palm settled above it did not help at all. The hand around your neck loosened enough that you were free to talk, however. "So what, you're," you gulped, trying desperately to keep your thoughts focused on getting you out of this mess, but there was that part of you that was trying to come to terms with death too. "Going to eat me now that you caught me? Fun over?"

 

He chuckled, the hand on your heart sliding downwards in faux intimacy until he cupped your ass and tugged your lower half forwards, pinning your hips against his stomach as he let your neck go, curling his arm around your back and grasping at your shoulder, wrapping around you like an octopus. His entire body felt like it was made of granite.

 

"Do you want me to eat you?" He questioned as his lips made contact with the skin beneath your ear and dragged downwards, your legs twitching and back arching sharply when a fang brushed the sensitive flesh. A light sting stilled you and his grip tightened. "Careful," he warned, right before he tongued the tiny wound.

 

The haze of adrenaline combined with the terror of the last few hours and the strangely erotic position you found yourself in sent you for a loop. His tongue and stubble scraping your neck sent a shiver of arousal straight between your legs and you made a stuttering, incoherent noise in response, tilting your head away but just giving him better access in the process.

 

His tongue withdrew and he went right back to traveling down that pulsing vein in your neck, his voice reverberating through you. "Maybe you do."

 

You needed to say something and turn this around, fast. "Do I actually have an option?" You cringed at the arousal in your voice.

 

Mouth stilling at the juncture of your neck, he seemed to be tuning you out, pressing his lips against your throbbing artery, tonguing it and taking deep breaths through his nose, his grip on you roughening. He made a sound that was awful close to a moan before speaking into your skin, "maybe if you hadn't shot me. Or tried to stab me," he muttered.

 

Gasping, you tossed your head back and panicked the second his teeth touched your skin, bucking, punching and kicking with your reduced mobility as the sharp fangs pierced deep and forced a pained cry out of you. You felt every detail of your skin giving way and the flex of his jaw when he pinched your flesh tight and stabbed at your artery with the razors in his mouth. "Get off!" You cried breathlessly, eyes wild and hands tugging at his hair.

 

It was terrifying, the way you were utterly ignored and overpowered. You, who have killed many, many people at this point, all of whom were out to kill others or yourself. Your fingers clenched at his hair and the muscles of your arms trembled from the force you were applying, trying to pull his head away from your neck as he began to lazily suck and slurp at the blood welling up from your wound. A deep-chested growl almost rattled you badly enough to stop fighting, but you were fighting for your _life_ at this point.

 

His head was beside yours, dipped a little lower as he was at the juncture of your neck, moving slightly with each lazy sip he took of you. Your terror flipped to rage in a second and with a snarl you tilted your head down and chomped on his ear, biting hard and tasting copper.

 

He hissed and jerked slightly, more surprised than pained, before giving a rough laugh and nipping at your jaw. He did not notice you unhooking the grappling gun from your belt until you jammed it under his chin and pulled the trigger.

 

The small spearhead-shaped projectile pierced through the soft flesh and hit the roof of his mouth with a disgusting crunch. You couldn't see his face, but you imagined the surprise on it when you hit the second trigger and the line pulled tight, clamping his jaw shut as he dropped you and stumbled backwards with a muffled snarl.

 

Stunned that actually worked, you recovered quickly as you heard him clatter into the wall full of switches, scuttling past and pulling the door open. You practically fell down to the tracks and took off running on your hands and feet, shoving to your feet and sprinting for your life. It couldn't have been more than 10 seconds before you heard that heavy door slamming shut a second time, the sound urging you to run faster yet.

 

There were people ahead, armed and coming down the stairs of an entry stairwell. You knew exactly which you'd prefer to face, you just wished you weren't so god forsaken dizzy.

 

Forcing yourself into a stop, even though you'd rather run until you died of exhaustion, you quieted your breathing and hid beneath the ledge, waiting and listening to the idle chatter of the group of four.

 

"I heard lots of hobos hide down here, easy pickings if you can find them," one said.

 

"Looking forward to it. Too many vehicles and big groups up there this time," another mumbled.

 

The first set of boots hit the ground no more than two feet in front of you and you grit your teeth, frantically glancing between them and the dark you came running out of. Pacing yourself, praying for restraint, you waited until the very last pair landed before striking.

 

Sliding forwards, you fluidly tugged the machete off your targets belt and looked him in the eye as he spun, said "huh?" and spewed blood on you when you opened his throat. A shout of alarm rose from the remaining three as they rounded on you and you grasped the gun your target dropped, letting out a little roar as you exchanged fire and used his body as partial cover.

 

Behind them, you saw two red glowing beacons rushing forwards and if you believed in God you'd be praying, it was hard enough not dropping to your knees and quaking all the same. Pain bloomed in your right shoulder and the meat of your bicep as their gunfire went wide of your vitals and you neatly plugged them in the thighs.

 

The vampire, looking much more the part of the monster than the man at the moment, snarled so loud and feral the three men who were screaming and holding their legs actually stopped and looked behind them. You were already flying up the stairs, gun falling out of your useless right hand as a different kind of screaming started.

 

Here's hoping that would keep him busy.

 

You were deep in the downtown area, stumbling and gasping for breath, vision alternating from going dark and doubling. It wasn't looking too good but you would definitely prefer this slow death than the horror of being drunk like fucking koolaid. Resting the machete against the corner of the building you were leaning heavily against, you thumbed open one of your belt pouches and gave your head a little shake as you pulled out a small tampon.

 

Chuckling and smiling you glanced over your shoulder, checking around before peeling away the plastic with your teeth and spitting it out. You held the little cotton bullet over the tidy hole in your shoulder and took a couple quick breaths to pump yourself up before jamming it directly into the weeping wound and letting out a muffled shriek.

 

The bullet was still in there and radiating painfully but the tampon, which you fingered in as deep as you could get it, would plug the hole properly until you could get yourself to a hospital. Only a few hours to go. You were shaking so bad you dropped the second tampon, gritting your teeth and doubling over to chase after it as it rolled away.

 

You caught the escapee just as a dog on a chain pulled around the corner, its owner hooting in excitement as he saw you while the dog simultaneously growled. "Fuck," you muttered. Being torn apart wasn't much of a way to die either, in your opinion. Your eyes darted to the machete now a good 5 feet away while you swayed on your feet.

 

You flung yourself at the machete as the dog owner dropped its chain and barked the command to attack. Your hand reached the hilt just as the dog yelped, skidded across the pavement and sharply turned to run back the way it came, leaving its bewildered and pissed owner aiming his pistol at something behind you.

 

Caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place, you panted shallowly for breath and watched the man. You didn't want to look behind you, reality had suddenly become too scary to face.

 

"This one's mine and now you are too!" The now dogless man shouted, aiming his gun sideways and showing teeth before squeezing the trigger. Of course he had to be an amateur and an idiot, you were pretty sure he didn't even hit the big bloody target behind you.

 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you vaguely registered quick footfalls passing by, a few more gunshots and a muffled cry before the immediate area fell silent, only the steady popping of not-so-distant gunfire reminding you that there were still other people roaming around, completely unaware of how much more nightmarish reality was.

 

You were on your knees and didn't remember how that came to be, the machete loose in your hand even though you were squeezing with all the strength you had left. Your eyelids were so heavy, but you opened them when you felt and heard your hunter squatting down in front of you. A line of thick blood oozed down between you from his chin and he was grinning toothily, eyes bright.

 

"Not bad, little hunter," he admitted in a startlingly good natured tone, "can't say anyone has ever done that to me before."

 

"Kill me," you rasped, unable to drum up anything more powerful than a whisper, "or I'll hunt you.  I swear it."

 

His large hand caught you under the chin and turned your face towards his, a dark smirk on his handsome but bloody features. "I look forward to that."

 

Maybe he didn't need to kill you.  A cold numbness was settling deep in your bones, probably from the cumulative blood loss. The last thing you saw before your eyes sealed shut was his steady, molten gaze.

 

When you woke up in the hospital, connected to quite a few machines and in quiet agony, the choice to hunt the real monsters cemented in your mind.  Yes, your life just gained a whole new purpose, that beast would regret his misplaced mercy.


	2. Into The Wildwood (RumlowxReader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU!Dungeons&Dragons  
> Shapeshifter!Reader, Dragon!Rumlow  
> TAGS: Violence, pregnancy(not the reader), implied sexual assault, super creepy harem, hostages, body horror
> 
> Summary: Setting is a fantastical world with different races, monsters, deities, spirits, etc. Reader is a part of a famous dragon slaying group that worships an ancient spirit, the Ichneumon (I found this doing some googling and thought a dragon slaying mongoose was just too perfect) For the sake of imagination, picture it more like horse-sized mongoose. So reader has been summoned to do her job once more but the problem is, nothing is as it seems and whenever that happens things tend to go sideways. Oh, they go sideways alright.

The mayor of South Haven smelled of cheap ale and sweat, possessed of a weak chin and watery eyes that turned beady the moment they landed on you. You did not like him. "You summoned me?" You said, voice soft but filling the quiet, small town hall room.

 

He shifted in his seat, rubbing his hands together nervously before rising to a stand behind his desk. "Yes, it is a pleasure to meet you-"

 

"Do away with the formality," you cut in, clasping your hands together at your front and watching him stammer to a stop, "you have a dragon problem, Mayor Tilman. I am here to solve that problem, provided my terms are met."

 

"Ah-yes-well," sweat beaded down his temples and he pulled out a handkerchief to dab at it fretfully. "Your terms have been met. Full payment on completion of the task, with proof of the kill provided."

 

"And my  _other_ term?" You quirked a brow, pinning him to the spot with your intense gaze.

 

"It has been dug and prepared to your specifications," he gave a minute nod.

 

You smiled then, the tension in the room melting away with your friendly expression. "Be at ease, Mayor. Your town will be free and safe very soon."

 

"I pray you are right and wish you all the best on this task," he said seriously, "one of my aides will take you to the, ah, trench?" He dabbed his forehead again and sighed quietly.

 

Smile transforming into a smirk, you gave him a dip of your head and turned to leave. The aide assigned to you, a scruffy teenage boy, just about jumped out of his skin when you swung the heavy wood door open and strode outside. "Oh! Oh! Miss! I am here to assist you-"

 

"Take me there," you cut through his blathering, silencing him and motioning for him to lead with a single sharp gesture.

 

Quieted, he turned and lead you through the dark hamlet to the very outskirts and nervously gestured towards the muddy pit you demanded they make for you. "It is to your liking I hope? I know this ritual is very important to your people..." He too shifted nervously, but it was an excited kind of nervous, you noted. He was practically vibrating.

 

Chuckling, you moved to the edge and peered in. Yup. Definitely a muddy pit. Looking over your shoulder at him, you grinned mischievously. "You know then that we bare ourselves fully during this ritual, yes?"

 

He blushed redder than any tomato you'd ever seen. "Uhhhh," he blurted, eyes wider than coins.

 

"That means you leave now," you said teasingly. He didn't even answer, just made an inarticulate noise and turned to leave at an almost-run. You waited for him to be well and truly gone before you giggled. Flustering teenagers never got old.

 

Still, you weren't actually kidding. Divesting yourself of your traveling leathers and underclothes, you went through the motions methodically as you had hundreds of times before, folding them and placing them on the cool, damp grass. It was too bad the sun never truly shone here, the ritual would not be as strong as it could be, but that had never stopped you before.

 

Stripped bare, your skin covering in gooseflesh from the cool temperatures, you gave the area one glance over before easing yourself down into the comparatively icy mess of water and dirt. Taking in a long breath through your nose, you relished the scent and wiggled in pleasure before beginning to slop the muck over your body in a thick paste. Immediately, you felt the familiar thrum of magic tingling against your skin and filling you with fiery vigor.

 

It only took a few minutes, patiently slathering a thick layer of mud over your entire body while visualizing your target until your skin was buzzing, your teeth were bared and a growl building in your chest. Task complete, you leaped out of the muck and landed on the grass, nimble as a fox, and tilted your head backwards to pull in a long, deep sniff.

 

The iron dragon had originally been tearing through all the game in the wildwood, leaving little and less for the hunters and in time it began to pick off the hunters and gatherers too. It was a mystery how such a small town managed to procure enough gold to pull in someone of your caliber, but if the gold was there then so were you. Everything your nose was pulling in suggested the same: a familiar metallic stench clung to your nostrils, classic iron dragon.

 

Air thrumming heavily with magic, your eyes cut through the dark like a knife right before you surged forwards and took into the woods with a run. Nose in the air, you began the glorious hunt. No dragon could stand before the Ichneumon of legend.

 

Slipping through the dark forest on nimble feet, you chased the scent, following your instincts when it faded and picking it back up a mile or so later. Iron dragons had lairs like most, fissures in the earth where they hoarded their treasures greedily and rested between hunts. It would be in the more hilly terrain, and that is exactly where the trail was leading.

 

If you caught it sleeping, there might not even be a fight. That thought dismayed you, the fight was the best part. When you discovered the smell of burning wood, smoke and scorched earth, that caught your attention immediately.

 

A short run and a deft leap over a fallen tree had you entering an unnatural clearing. Trees, huge and ancient, were scattered around, smashed to splinters and smouldering. Cautious, you walked through the mess and gathered information with your senses.

 

The iron dragon had been grounded, flailing around wildly and spraying the area with it's flames. A few discarded scales told the tale. There was a lack of blood, so it didn't appear to have been attacked, but it didn't make much sense for it to look like there had been a one sided battle here either. Something fought with it, something you could not smell. Variables like that were not good.

 

Monsters of the large and scaly variety were your forte, everything else out there? Not so much. You left the clearing with a renewed sense of caution, though it was hard to reign in the instincts that made your teeth itch for a throat to bite.

 

Dipping through a festering swamp, you found the scent everywhere, it was nearly overwhelming. The lair was close, perhaps around the hill just ahead, out of the stale water the dragon would not like. Your brows furrowed and hackles rose when you instead found a dark rent in the earth, looking more like the deep cut of a claw than a cave entrance, settled neatly in a pile of boulders.

 

It stuck out of the ground like a mound and certainly wasn't large enough for a dragon to slide in, but as you approached the scent nearly drove you wild, a high pitched keening sound escaping your throat before you cut it off sharply. The animal inside always wanted to let them know they were being hunted, it was a cocky beast and difficult to control on even the easiest of hunts.

 

Water slushed off your legs and onto the pebbles and stones that lead up to the crack, though the enchanted mud clung firmly to your skin despite the exposure to the water. Lip curling back into a toothy sneer, you placed a hand on the stone that the crack cut into and leaned forwards, pulling in a long sniff. The stone was ice cold, as was the air, the entire aura of the place was doom and gloom.

 

It didn't sit right with you, neither did the smell. The gentle draft carried the usual cave smells, stale air, dampness and soil, but there was no overpowering iron dragon stench, only a subtle unknown scent that riled your animal all the same. It stood to reason your quarry was not in this hole. It literally could not fit. However, another failing of your animal was the curiosity, and that is what compelled you to slip into the abyss.

 

Your animal spirit wasn't interested in chasing anything but dragons right now.

 

Lowering yourself down, the entrance widened out marginally but it was only enough for perhaps four men standing shoulder to shoulder. Your steps were silent, muffled by the soil scattered over the stone, probably brought in by years of creatures doing the same kind of investigation as you, and you continued to pull in quiet sniffs.

 

You felt the change in your skin before you smelled it, a subtle shifting pressure that grew in intensity the further down your path spiraled. It lost its natural feel and began to feel more man made than anything, caves didn't just spiral down like this. The smell only really hit you when you entered into a large chamber.

 

Massive stalactites hung down and thick pillars of stone linking from floor to ceiling obscured a lot of the view, but the  _smell_ ...it was wrong. You weren't sure you had words to describe it. Not rot or any manner of other unpleasant things, but intense and perhaps dark was the word? The smell was dark.

 

Water was running somewhere towards the back, a wall of darkness too thick for even your advanced eyes to pierce hung between you and that. There was a conspicuous absence of sound otherwise, leaving you wary as you crept forwards.

 

That wall of darkness was also not receding as you approached, giving you pause.

 

"So," a deep voice rumbled, soft but powerful enough to fill the entire cave and echo ominously.  _That_ was a characteristic trait of a dragon.

 

The hair at the back of your neck prickled as a man sauntered out from within the wall of dark, dressed in comfortable clothes that would look normal on a hunter were it not for the thick gold band around his neck, a single bauble that bespoke of wealth. His hair was short and black, longer on the top of his head than the sides, and the way he wore his clothes suggested his form was muscular and lean.

 

His eyes were also solid black, right before he blinked and they became just like a humans, deep brown. "You're the rat who killed my associate." It was a statement. His gaze was not friendly.

 

You bristled at the insult, the fire of your animal making it hard to not just launch forwards without assessing this new threat. This was no iron dragon, not by a long shot. "It does not surprise me, killing your kind is my job and my pleasure," you said.

 

His demeanor didn't so much as twitch, his lips pulled into a harsh grin, even. He took one long step towards you. "You must be a babe, falling so easily into this trap. I thought I would have to work hard for this vengeance, you are disappointing me so far."

 

Dragons were great plotters who could enact some pretty fantastic forms of retribution. The question was, how long had he been plotting this? You had a pretty long list of kills under your belt at this point. "Not much of a trap," you taunted, fingers curling like claws at your sides in response to his forward movement, "what, you chased an iron dragon around and hid your scent?"

 

He did seem a little offended at that, if the slight downwards pull of his dark brows was any indicator. "How do you think a little village like that could afford you? They belong to me," he purred the last word. Dragons hoarded many things they considered valuable, but influence over mortals? It seemed a little odd. "Every step you've taken has followed the path I laid out for you, without error."

 

"Then you know our reputation. You are eager to greet your maker, it seems," you licked your muddy lips, taking a step towards him in response to his physical challenge. Problem was, the logical side of you had begun to worry about how this was going down. By now a fight would normally have been over and done with, battle joined as soon as the beast realized who and what you were. Dragons took it real personally when so-called lesser beings barged into their lairs to slay them. He was far, far too calm.

 

"You are not the first, and will not be the last, rat I kill," he crooned, the both of you slowly approaching one another now. His human form, and that was another tell at the kind of power he had behind him, was fully a head taller than you. They always liked to loom over others, disguise or no. "Are you not curious how long I have walked this world now? I know your kind burns with it, rodents that stick their nose in every hole they find."

 

Giving him a toothy grin in return, not willing to give any suggestions that you were unnerved, you tipped your head. "Go ahead, brag of your age before I tear your throat out. I will be glad to tell the villagers your last words and they will be grateful to be free of you." He was close now, well within lunging distance.

 

"I will do better," his voice dropped into a low growl that sent tremors through the ground and up your bare feet. "I will show you, rat." The pupils of his eyes swallowed the iris and ebony streams began to seep through his clothes and into the air like smoke, somehow darker than the pitch you were already submerged in.

 

Your eyes widened as the realization struck you. The scent, the lair, the manipulation of the villagers, it all clicked in one terrible second. Shadow dragon. Not willing to let him strike first, you let out a terrific, high pitched shriek and lunged at him, the claws and teeth of your animal manifesting.

 

He caught your arms at the wrist, one in each hand and leaned back just enough to avoid your razor teeth snapping at his neck wildly, a cruel bark of a laugh escaping him before he spun and sent you flying. Colliding harshly with a pillar of stone, all your breath shoved out of your lungs in a sharp  _uh_ sound, you landed on your feet and opened your eyes just in time to see his jaw opening wide.

 

Impenetrable dark welled up in his human mouth, and you couldn't remember ever meeting a dragon that could unleash its flame in a form other than its natural one, but it was about to happen. Dropping to your knees instantly, you curled over and braced yourself for impact. The sound of his breath was a hideous gushing wheeze, heard only a moment before the burning shadows connected with you.

 

Your magic held, your body being forced to slide backwards from the intensity of the weaponized darkness licking across your enchanted mud armor. As he stopped, you took stock of yourself while quickly getting back to your feet. The mud was cracking already, the enchantment stripped away and barely hanging on. It could not withstand another breath like that, which meant, to your rising dread, this dragon was not boasting about his age for no reason. He was very, very powerful.

 

"Surprised you lived," he admitted, tilting his head to peer at you as his flesh blackened into what you knew to be dark but translucent scales. "Perhaps you are not as young as I took you for, but you are still quite dead."

 

Hissing, you launched yourself at him once again, dancing away from his powerful hands at the last moment and taking a bite at the back of his shoulder instead. His snarl of pain gave you pleasure, as did the feeling of his not-yet-scaled flesh giving way to your fangs. Leaping back as he turned sharply and swung at you, you licked your bloodied lips and began to circle him.

 

He would win a direct confrontation but the ichneumon, while certainly a wild and rowdy fighter, was also a clever creature. So long as you avoided his breath and tail, this beast would fall like the others. And he was arrogant like most, that would help.

 

Two things happened in quick succession: his mouth stretched out into a maw as he roared and his form exploded outwards, and that solid wall of darkness that had been at the back of the cave suddenly enveloped the two of you, rendering you completely blind.

 

Letting out a quick hiss of distress, you darted backwards and managed to step behind a pillar a moment before you felt a blast of cold death lick the air near you. Normally seeing in the dark was not an issue, this was an alarming turn of events, you were ill prepared to fight a dragon that barely existed beyond cautionary tales to young initiates, never mind fighting it  _blind_ . It would be best to retreat and regroup, figure out a different plan of attack based off of the new information, but there was a possibly massive dragon between you and that narrow, spiraling climb now.

 

A thunderous chuckle shook pebbles over your toes, somewhere above. Was he watching you? It was utterly silent but for your quiet, quick breaths. A shudder ran through you and you rolled to the side, the sound of earth and stone giving way to the heavy slam of a tail far too close for your comfort.

 

It was dangerous, but the situation warranted the full surrender of yourself to the beast. Letting out a chittering scream, you fell to all fours and your body morphed instantly into that of the mongoose, albeit far bigger than the creatures that hunted small game. You felt a strange sense of being a passenger in your own body, it had been a long time since you let the clever hunter use its full instincts.

 

Those instincts saved you yet again when it danced forwards and another heavy slam shook the ground. Your tail bottlebrushed and stuck out rigidly as the mongoose followed its nose and ran like a bolt of lightning towards the smell and feel of fresh air. It would still be a miracle if the dragon did not shred your vitality and leave you a weakened husk with its breath, there was a lot of open ground between there and here.

 

"Fleeing?" The beast mocked from above.

 

You were almost there, your claws were tossing up earth from the speed you were moving, but then a mountain fell on your tail hard enough to break it and make you cry out shrilly in agony. Turning to scrabble and bite at the offending and massive clawed appendage that was holding your tail down, your claws and teeth couldn't even dent the scales, they were so tough.

 

Cool breath washed over you and ruffled your fur. "To think, you furry little beasts actually consider yourselves above dragons," his voice rattled your brain while you continued your frantic and fruitless attack. When your fur was pulled upwards by a deep intake of breath, you turned and tried to brace yourself for the wicked flame.

 

When the sickening wheeze came, it felt like you were dumped directly under a waterfall, the pressure so intense it slammed your entire elongated body to the ground and pinned it there. All creatures, excluding undead, yield to pain in time. You and even the mongoose were no exception, a terrible scream of agony ripping from your lungs, the ichneumon withering away, fur stripping off in thick tufts until it couldn't stand it anymore and pulled back from your mortal frame.

 

Icy daggers were digging into your limbs and your eyes began to close, losing the strength to hold them open, scream dying in your throat just as the flame relinquished. Your entire body felt wrecked in ways you never experienced in all your long life. Perhaps this was just what approaching death felt like?

 

The Ichneumon, normally a strong presence that gave you warmth and security, felt distant, as though it was hanging on to you by one tenacious little thread that threatened to snap with a wrong move. A shiver ran through you, the thought of being severed more terrible than death.

 

There was a few moments of quiet shifting before you heard footsteps, followed by a boot landing on your left shoulder and pressing downwards slowly, making the icy pain in your muscles twinge hard enough your mouth opened and no cry escaped. "I think you should appreciate how much time and practice it takes to not simply rip the life from your body purely by accident," he said.

 

A quick shift of his foot and a kick had you on your back, sprawled out, prone and vulnerable. "You are wondering when I am going to kill you, why I haven't yet. You did harm to my body," his voice dropped to a hiss and his boot connected harshly with your side, but you couldn't even grunt in pain, "you have vexed me far, far too much for a simple death."

 

Huffing in disdain, he crouched down beside you, looking you over with a calculating eye. "You are just a mud covered savage now. I can feel the connection to your beast, I wonder what would happen to you if I was to just sever it?" You could feel his smile.

 

You shivered at the threat, your head lolling to the side as you tried to shake it in the negative.

 

"Perhaps later. I'd hate to kill you before the fun can begin." A hand caught your ankle in a rough grip and yanked upwards, dragging you across the rock and soil roughly. "Enjoy your new home for the time being, I have some matters to attend to before you and I get to know one another." Your back was burning before he finally tossed you forwards into a boneless heap. "Rest well," he mocked.

 

His footsteps faded away quickly and you were left cold and utterly exhausted. Your animal was far too distant to give you its exceptional night sight, so you were still blind. Shadow dragon, you closed your eyes and thought, what did you know about them? Precious little. Malevolent creatures of darkness, as the name suggested. Thieves of vitality and ability, their breath withered the target and empowered themselves, which explained your immobile limbs.

 

This situation was well and truly out of hand, but all the energy you could muster to move just left you closing your eyes and falling into dreamless sleep.

 

Flickering orange light behind your eyelids woke you up. Cracking your eyes open in a wince, you looked towards the figure emerging from the incline, your escape route, and your lips tugged into a tight frown when you realized this person was familiar. It was the aide boy.

 

In one hand and over his head he held a torch and in the other he held a bucket and something under his arm. His approach, tentative and meandering, was slow until he finally caught sight of you. You heard his quiet gasp, saw him steel himself and approach quickly. "Hello! I-uh, brought you some things..." He came to a stop a little ways out of arms reach, not that it mattered, he was clearly a bundle of nerves if the sweat glimmering on his forehead said anything.

 

"Why?" You rasped, swallowing at your dry throat.

 

"Lord Rumlow ordered me to," he dipped his head and his shoulders curled in on themselves at the mention of this Lord Rumlow person. There was a Rumlow estate that you knew of, somewhere deep in the wildwood, but that was truly all you knew. He carefully put the bucket down. "To relieve yourself," he said, so quiet you barely heard, you could even see his blush in the orange light, "your clothes," he placed your folded clothing beside it and pulled a wrapped package from under his arm, "and food for a few days."

 

"Why do you serve this creature?" You wondered out loud, watching him wince at the word 'creature'.

 

"He keeps us safe, takes care of us," he said, taking a slow step backwards and looking at the darkness as though his 'protector' was going to leap out at him any second.

 

"He keeps you scared. Dragons do not protect anything other than their hoard, their possessions," you licked your cracked lips, "help me out of here and I can send word for more of my kind. We can defeat him."

 

"No!" He said sharply, his fright morphing into anger instantly as he drew back. "You angered him and you will pay for that. Farewell." He turned and walked away.

 

You balled your fists slowly, tapping the ground with them in frustration. Your body was still far too weak, how long would this last? Was it permanent? Maybe the dragon, Rumlow apparently, simply wanted to watch you try and survive as a hapless cripple. You glared after the retreating light, sliding your hand across the soil until you were firmly pointing in the direction of the exit, closing your eyes when the light winked out and darkness enveloped you again.

 

It was either minutes or hours before you managed to pull yourself up to your hands and knees, motivated by a desperate need to relieve yourself, you used the bucket with no small amount of shame and shoved it away. From there you stumbled through putting your clothes on, relieved to dispel some of the chill in your bones, and then you managed to tuck into what felt and tasted like some kind of meaty sandwich.

 

All the while you kept in your mind's eye the location of the exit. Grabbing up the bagged food, you began an awkward half walk half shuffle towards freedom, your free hand taking some weight when your back grew too tired to keep you fully upright. Relief flooded you when you felt the cool tickle of air moving across your skin and the change of angle on your ankles, you found your way.

 

The ascent proved to be a hellish trial that left you sweating and drained, taking far too many breaks, but the darkness had begun to recede and the idea of being in the open again heartened you. While you climbed, you thought. This place you were crawling out of was absolutely not Rumlow's lair. The way he acted, the lack of any kind of treasure, how he allowed a human servant to enter it, none of it suggested 'my sacred home' to you.

 

It was just a trap, possibly one he lured other ichneumon to before, and nothing more. Finding the real lair and ambushing him was likely going to be necessary but the first order of business was getting the hell out of here in one piece and getting in touch with your superiors and there were many, many miles between you and them.

 

You laid on your stomach, cheek resting on cold stone, half way out of the damnable hole as you panted. There was a dreary grey light that made you think it may be early in the day, if you were lucky. Rumlow said he'd be back, getting well away from this cave was goal number one.

 

Getting to know one another sounded particularly sinister coming from an avatar of evil, after all.

 

The air, as musky and swampy as it was, reinvigorated you in short order and you were soon slogging your way back towards the town. You needed your horse, at the very least. Punching the mayor in the face for his deception was also on the table, if subtlety failed. At least your strength was returning to you, as far as good news went.

 

When the forest fell startlingly silent, you paused, hand braced on the mossy trunk of an ancient tree, the hairs on your arms standing up. Biting back a sharp curse when you heard the telltale sound of a wing cutting through air, you looked around frantically and ended up taking off at a stumbling run after not seeing any proper hiding places.

 

Desperately, you reached through the frayed bond that tethered you to the ancient animal spirit and tried to pull forth some of its energy and strength. When you tripped over an obscured rock and face planted, you knew how well that was working. Luckily you heard no further flying lizard noises, so you just lay there with your face in the mossy dirt for a minute before grunting and pushing yourself back up.

 

Returning to your brisk walking pace, your eyes darted around continually. It did not escape your notice that the forest was still quiet, not even a bug chirping for attention. You scooped a fist-sized rock up as you went, glancing behind you warily as you did.

 

You were walking past the outstretched root of a tree, several heads taller than you and tapering down slowly enough it would be a chore to get around it, when there was a clatter of snapping branches and disturbed leaves, the hint of a translucent wing flicking into view before its owner landed behind the tree and shook the ground with his weight. A heavy branch landed a few yards away with a dull thud.

 

Jaw clenched tight, you resumed moving. Fighting would be pointless, obviously, the only option was hoping you could escape his notice. Your fist tightened around the rock it grasped when you saw the top of his black hair come into view on the other side of the root, he was walking around it and about to see you.

 

Shifting the rock to your left hand to obscure it from his view, you matched his leisurely sauntering pace and stared him directly in the eye when his face was revealed. He looked right back, a haughty expression on his masculine, carved features. "Did you think I would let you go so easily?" He quirked a brow. "You are incredibly vital," his lips curled into a cruel smirk as more and more of his body was revealed by the descending root, "I haven't felt this good in decades."

 

You trained for this. You could do this. Years and years of combat and arms training before bonding with the animal spirit, you weren't defenseless. Your expression was carefully cultivated to show nothing, right before the root was low enough to reveal your hand, you lunged with all the explosive power you could muster and swung hard for that smug face.

 

He turned just enough that your strike landed on his high cheekbone instead of his temple, and then you were bringing your elbow back to try and strike for the original target, but he was in motion too, eyes solidifying into black as his expression pulled into a terrifying snarl. His shoulder connected to your chest and somewhere between the way down and your back slamming into the root harshly his form exploded outwards and you were engulfed completely in darkness.

 

Vaguely, you heard the loud, angry hiss of the dragon through the fist you were stuck inside, right before it clenched down and snapped the root, grinding it into your back and threatening to crush your body from all angles. Out of instinct you snapped your teeth against the stonelike flesh mashed against your face and only succeeded in hurting your jaw. There was a quick, sharp jerking motion and you were left feeling equal parts floating and pinned, unaware of what was going on and waiting for the end.

 

After an indeterminate amount of time and pointless struggling until you gave up, you winced when the clawed digits grasping you opened and sent you flying half blind into the light with a surprised cry. Hitting the ground on your side, the shredded wood you had been pinned against crashed into you while you tumbled into a graceless, breathless heap. The last time you remembered landing on your back this much, you were still in training.

 

Arms and legs splayed, chunks of wood laying around you, you looked up through squinted eyes and felt your stomach clench at the snub-nosed, broad face of the very large, very angry dragon you had hit with a rock. Rumlow's jaws were parted slightly, each tooth larger than your body, his wings spread outwards like a smokey veil held up by skeletal fingers, dominating the space.

 

"You will enter my manor," he ground out finally, voice seething as it reverberated, "and if you try to escape or destroy my belongings? They will die," you glanced to the side and sure enough, a large manor was just a short distance away, Rumlow manor, "and I know you hero types hate that."

 

Your fist closed around a chunk of wood and though the facial expressions of giant lizards were mostly rigid, you got the distinct impression you were being sneered at for even bothering.

 

"Or fight," he rumbled, fathomless black eyes narrowing, "and I will simply eat you. My patience only goes so far."

 

Closing your eyes and taking a deep, steadying breath, you let go of the wood and stiffly rose to your feet. It hurt your pride, but picking your battles was a real thing, even though you had never experienced it until now.

 

"As I expected, you are cowardly," he said, head tilting as he leaned over you just a little more, mocking.

 

Not willing to rise to the bait, you settled for not showing any fear as you glared upwards at him, challenging just long enough for his spines to bristle before turning and walking towards the manor. It was good that you got to see his form fully, it was informative. His size, thickness of scales and sheer aura were all indicators of age and power. He had an unreasonably large amount of it.

 

A more pressing concern, as you banged on the huge front door of the manor, was who _they_ were. Behind you, wings clapped together once, twice, and their shadowy owner flew off somewhere. When a portly woman appeared, door opening quietly on well oiled hinges, you understood. Play nice or the help dies.

 

She beckoned you in without a word, closing the door behind you and leading you through the wide open foyer. Her dark hair was done in a severe bun and you observed a healthy glow about her, which struck you as odd. You thought back to the aide boy, saying how they were taken care of.

 

The household itself had a sparing amount of decorations but what was there was tasteful and modern, everything spotless. It plainly stated the owner of the home was affluent and powerful, but in a calm, professional kind of way as opposed to the gaudiness many nobles and elite preferred. Your next observation was that there were other servants around, you could hear their soft footfalls out of sight at all times.

 

Uncomfortable with the situation, you kept close behind the silent maid and committed as much as you could to memory. If you could get a weapon and catch Rumlow in his home, he'd have to choose between turning his manor into a pile of rubble and fighting you in his smaller form. He would be vulnerable in here, as weak as you could get him without magical interference.

 

The maid came to stand before a set of double doors and swung them open, gesturing you in. Warily, you complied after noting there was no lock on the outside. It was not a cell of any sort. "Your bath is ready," she said in an incredibly soft spoken voice as you walked by, "appropriate clothing has been laid out for you, your current clothes will be cleaned."

 

You glanced at her warily as she disappeared behind the doors and shut you in. One more detail caught your eye. The woman was with child. It didn't necessarily mean anything, but your chest tightened anyways. Pregnancy and child rearing scared you, a fact you'd never utter out loud lest you be laughed off the face of the realm, but your aversion to creating life played strongly in your decision to embrace the Ichneumon and the lifestyle that came with it.

 

Turning away from the door, you looked at the room. A simple but elegant bedroom with a definitive feminine touch, there was a very soft looking bed, wardrobe, a small table with a chair next to the window and currently a large claw-footed tub full of enticingly steaming water in front of a fireplace.

 

You glanced over the clothing laid out for you with a critical eye while shucking your boots and pants stiffly, feeling every bruise. It was a simple woman's tunic and basic pants, functional but slightly more fancy than the plain clothes the maid wore. Every moment Rumlow was striking you as more and more of a schemer, it wouldn't surprise you if everything you had seen up to and including these clothes was meant to send some kind of message to you.

 

Still, you were covered in dried, flaking mud and cleaning up wasn't going to put you at some kind of disadvantage, so you gingerly sank into the water and let out a soft sigh. You soaked until the water turned brown and then scrubbed slowly and thoroughly, who knew when you'd get to be clean next and you certainly didn't get to bathe in a luxurious tub normally either.

 

Hopping out and drying off with a provided towel, you discarded it and pulled your new fresh clothes on, thinking about your next steps.

 

Either find a weapon and attack while the dragon is sleeping, if he dared to do so in his human form, catch him off guard while he was awake or...play nice and try to find a better opportunity to kill him or escape, or both. Keeping in mind that the lives of the housekeeping were at stake, it would be important to actually be successful, no matter what choice you made.

 

You ran your hand through your hair with a huff, winced at the twinge that spiked through your bruised back muscles and went for the door.

 

Sneaking around barefoot was not particularly hard, the house staff were quiet themselves but they were not trained. This lead you to discover that every single person in this house was a woman, all within their 20s, maybe 30s, and every last one of them was various stages of pregnant. You really didn't want to consider what that meant, but a picture was starting to form all the same. There were also no weapons. At all. Not even decorative ones.

 

Which lead you to the kitchens, where there would definitely be sharp knives. The air was full of delicious smells before you were even close, so it would just be a quick scan to see where they were. When you slid through the wooden door and saw the sheer size of the kitchen and the bustle of the staff, it gave you pause.

 

Eyes like a hawk, the head chef caught you staring and approached briskly, far less mousey than the other women so far. "Dinner will be ready soon, you will want to be there," she said firmly.

 

It felt like a warning more than a suggestion, so you narrowed your eyes slightly and gave her a curt nod before withdrawing. The layout of the manor was progressing well in your head, with a little more free reign you would have every inch committed to memory. That in mind, you took your best guess where the location of the dining room would be and made your way.

 

"You surprise me," Rumlow was sitting at the end of a long table, elbows braced on it and fingers folded together, gaze locked on you the second you walked through the archway. Women were floating around, laying out plates and cutlery, it all felt surreal to you, given the creature at the head of the table. "I thought we would need to ring a bell and yell for you."

 

Him not knowing that the chef told you to be there let you know that he wasn't somehow listening and watching at all moments, so that was good news. Wary and all too aware of the poor state of your body, you pointedly walked to the direct opposite end of the table and pulled a chair out for yourself. "I'm here," you said, staring right back.

 

He smirked as a plate was placed between his elbows by a woman with a carefully cultivated poker face. "Do you find my home to your liking?"

 

You rested your forearms on the table, fingertips stroking the fine cutlery, wishing it was all a bunch of knives. He expected conversation and you needed to oblige, lives were likely at stake, if his slowly darkening expression was any indicator. "There are some features that concern me," you sniped, squinting your eyes at him.

 

His smile crept up his face as he leaned back into his chair and spread his hands out in an expansive gesture. "I will tell you all about it over dinner."

 

Another wave of staff appeared, carrying out a veritable feast of food that they laid out with care and precision. You noted they never once looked at Rumlow or you, though that was common of servants in the presence of noble folk, it felt sinister in this situation.

 

"I'll be interested to hear about it," you grit out your sentence mirthlessly.

 

He stretched out a hand and almost immediately a glass was placed in it and filled with a red liquid, wine you guessed, from a woman who had been standing ready behind his tall chair. "Thank you dear," he said it without looking back, taking a sip and slowly running his tongue over his lip and looking at you with that intense, heavy gaze.

 

A finger of cold ran down your spine, almost visceral enough to make you physically jerk. It was a relief to let go of eye contact with him and look over the staff who filed in neatly and quietly, taking up seats in an orderly manner. As soon as they were all seated comfortably they stared straight down at their food and waited for some signal unknown to you.

 

"As the lord of the manor, normally I would have the first choice," he spoke as though he was explaining to a child, "but I would like you, my guest, to begin today."

 

You wanted to scrub a hand over your face furiously and curse the beast out for playing games, but you schooled your features into cool indifference, said, "thank you," and reached out for a stack of buttered corn cob that actually looked delicious, in its defense. He was watching you intensely and you knew this was some kind of test, and it became apparent as you grasped the base of the plate and moved to pass it on.

 

Was it left or right that was proper? You wracked your brain for the answer, choosing to pass to your right before you had to stop the motion so it looked natural. You watched the corners of his eyes crinkle in a smile. Test passed. For now.

 

This went on for some time, you selecting food and passing plates until the whole tables worth was rotating around and everyone had a steaming, delicious bounty in front of them. Your hands paused over the cutlery as you tried to pick up any kind of cue from Rumlow about who got to tuck in first. He simply smirked and cut into a slab of meat with his fork and knife, the table coming to life only after he took his first bite.

 

There was sweat on your back, this was proving more intense and torturous than more fire breathing, claw slashing, tooth gnashing fights you had been in. No playing fast and loose by instincts when your spirit animal was hanging by a thread and the fate of 20 or so civilians rested in your hands. The food, however, was excellent and your stomach all but danced in appreciation.

 

He ate meticulously, like a real proper lord. Precise cuts, chew, swallow, repeat. You noted he did not partake in finger food like the corn. Probably another, subtler test that you failed.

 

Finally, he took a drink of his wine and leaned away from his food. "So. You want to know about my girls." The way his head tilted shadowed his eyes just enough to enhance his sinister appearance to you, and there was no way it wasn't on purpose.

 

_My girls_ . Not 'my slaves' or 'my staff' but  _my girls_ . You grit your teeth and swallowed your mashed potatoes that now tasted like gravel. The wording said a lot. He wasn't speaking, so you gave him a slow nod.

 

"I take care of them," he chuckled, soft, but it carried. Everyone else continued to eat as though the conversation was not happening. "And they carry and raise my offspring."

 

You shifted your shoulders slightly to hide how you stiffened at the admission. "Awfully low of you, to consort with mortals?" You quirked a brow, trying to be nonchalant despite your private horror.

 

He made a small dismissive gesture and took another drink. "I suppose you know next to nothing about dragons, other than how to kill them. Typical."

 

Taking a swig of your own drink, to hell with decorum, you licked your lips and chuckled back at him. "Not much reason to get to know a creature that raises the countryside and kills anything that gets inside the territory it greedily claims."

 

"Hmnph," he snorted, apparently choosing to be the bigger man. "Originally it was for lack of options, but given the success, I've continued the practice. The women stay with me, the men fill the village and those who are pure? They do my bidding in the world." He smiled again, like a cat that caught the mouse.

 

So it went far beyond this forest, you mused. How many generations of shadow dragons and human stooges did he have planted out there doing his bidding in the mortal realms? You took another bite of food to collect your thoughts before speaking again. "So you..." It didn't really hit you until you were about to say it, but the realization had you doing a double take on the woman seated next to you.

 

Dark hair. High cheekbones. Fine features. You made a noise of disgust before you could stop yourself, glaring daggers at the beast. "You...mate with your children."

 

"Dragons do not have the same  _issues_ as mortals, especially not humans. It does not matter," the way he said it, so nonchalant, made you shudder. Maybe you really didn't want to know more about dragons than you had to. 

 

His statement about lack of options had you wondering though, with a continually rising sense of dread.

 

"Do you even wonder who the associate of mine you killed was?" He squinted at you slightly, as if evaluating your intelligence.

 

"Hardly matters, he or she is dead and I'm not," you quirked a brow.

 

"It does matter," his voice cracked like a whip and for the first time, you saw the women react. There were many involuntary flinches and all movement stopped. "He was my progeny."

 

"I have never met a shadow dragon until you," you frowned, undeterred by his threatening demeanor. It's not like you'd accidentally kill a dragon like that, it was always a visceral fight to the death if it wasn't a quiet ambush.

 

"A bar fight," he sneered, glaring until you were certain the whites of his eyes were fading. "You killed him in his mortal guise in a simple bar fight. From behind."

 

You've killed more than a couple people in bar fights over the years. You wracked your brain until that particular scenario came back to you, though it was hazy given the amount of ale you imbibed that night. "He was posturing over some poor barmaid and got into a fight with a barbarian friend of mine," you tilted your head back, recalling it as you told it, "he pulled a knife from a nearby fool and tried to gut him. I got him first," you nodded slightly, memory complete.

 

How ironic that you killed such a creature on accident.

 

"Is that right?" His eyes were definitely black and you observed that shadowy substance begin to waft off him like a miasma. Someone pulled out their chair and his fist slammed down on the tabletop, making all the cutlery and plates jump and more than a few fearful gasps escaped. "Eat," he ordered, voice hard and commanding.

 

The chair squeaked right back and instantly everyone was eating like nothing had happened.

 

Reaching up and rubbing the back of your neck, you let out a low hiss of breath. "Alright. I know why you have plotted against me, I know more about dragons than I care to, now what? You have me, what is your revenge?"

 

"You don't get it do you, little savage?" He hissed, bristling, barely contained in the confines of his mortal guise. "Perhaps I should just be blunt then. I am the first. Your race was crawling through the mud while I walked the shadowed world and you  _took from me_ my  _progeny_ ." His teeth were clenched tightly together by the end of his rant.

 

Cold dread suffused your limbs and you swallowed at the dry lump in your throat. That _was_ blunt. Maybe the real reason why the Ichneumon was not coming back to you was because the spirit knew the real danger you were in.

 

"Your suffering will be whispered about in every dark corner of the realms for ages to come, I'll see to that myself," he seemed to fold back in on himself, becoming more human as he regained his composure and settled in his chair once again.

 

Cutlery was clenched tight in your fists. Gods help you, he was the progenitor of his whole misbegotten race?

 


	3. It's A What? (ReaderxRumlow)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soulmate!AU  
> Nerd!Reader, Hydra/Crossbones!Rumlow  
> TAGS: Kidnapping, coercion, violence, typical HYDRA fuckery, no redemption, reader is clever but not a badass  
> Summary: Enter my barbarized version of the soulmate trope where you have a matching spirit animal. The Reader working as a data entry drone beneath Dr. Jane Foster of Stark Industries is an important but mostly thankless job. Unfortunately, Hydra has determined that you are useful and most importantly: unprotected. Soulmates have matching spirit animals, yours is a particularly odd one and you aren't holding your breath thinking that you'll ever find your counterpart. He exists.  
> Check notes at bottom for additional information about how the soulmate/spirit animal thing works.

"So, what is it?"

 

"You know I won't tell you, Mr. Stark."

 

"There are hundreds of people in this building and you are the only person who has ever not disclosed what your spirit animal is, you know that?"

 

"You tell me every time you come to visit me, Mr. Stark."

 

"You can't just leave me hanging like this, I'll give you a raise! I need to know!" Tony Stark, the handsome and apparently extremely nosy head of Stark Industries, had cornered you in your small office for the second time in as many weeks. If it didn't make you feel good to get this kind of special attention, you imagined he would have become a nuisance by now.

 

"Maybe I just like your company," you smiled at him and polished off the last of your data entry task with a flourish of your fingers and proceeded to sign out of your computer, all while Tony moped.

 

"What if I ply you with gifts?" He pressed as you stood up and wrapped your hands around your travel mug.

 

"I believe there are rules in place against things like that, and at the very least my coworkers would get jealous. A jealous work environment is not very productive, Mr. Stark," you sauntered by him with that same smile.

 

"This isn't over!" He vowed, but let you go all the same. Tony could only go without tinkering for so long, even if getting into everyone's business was a passion of his.

 

"Good night Mr. Stark," you said before stepping into the elevator.

 

You were walking home, scarf snug around your neck and thick overcoat insulating you from the chill of winter, when your phone rang. Stopping before a small crosswalk, you tugged it out of your pocket and flicked the call open with your thumb. "Hello?" You said.

 

"Is this y/n?" An unfamiliar woman's voice had you tilting your head slightly in confusion.

 

"Yes. To whom am I speaking?" You watched the crosswalk light blink back to red before looking down at your feet, unaware of how the street had become clear of other pedestrians.

 

"It's Jay from HR, I am sorry to contact you just after you got off work but I missed you in the building. Do you have a minute or two? It's nothing serious, I just need to follow up on a complaint," Jay said.

 

"A complaint? I guess I have a minute, sure, though I don't recall having any trouble with anyone in recent memory?" You wavered, brows drawing together as you began to fidget nervously, unaware of a black SUV approaching from your left. Wouldn't Tony have known about there being an HR issue with you? He was the king of being nosy after all, there must have been a mistake.

 

"Yes. John from your floor filed a complaint stating that you have been pranking him, and of course you know that such things are strictly against policy-" Jay's voice faded away as the SUV pulled up beside you and the back door swung open.

 

Your eyes widened and mouth parted into a neat "o" of surprise as a man leaned out and caught the front of your jacket in a huge fist, yanking you clean off your feet and into the vehicle as you let out a startled squeak. As you landed in the lap of another man who wrapped around you like an octopus, you shouted, "help!" into the phone before it was neatly tugged out of your grasp and a hand clapped over your mouth.

 

"Shut up and don't move," a gruff voice hissed into your ear as you started to fight and flail like a woman possessed, but his arms were like bands of steel and his legs curled around yours and squished them tightly in place.

 

"Is this her?" The man who took your phone was talking into it, his voice a low, flat tone of disinterest. A short pause and he grunted in response to whatever was said before removing the sim card, breaking it in half, rolling down the window and tossing your phone right out.

 

The vehicle had begun to move the moment the door closed and you tried to bite at the hand over your mouth, only to have your jaw squeezed like a vice in warning. Tears pricked in your eyes and you tried to look out the heavily tinted window instead, hopeful of memorizing where you were going.

 

"So here's how this is going to go," the man beside you said in that cold, indifferent voice, like he was just checking off boxes and not kidnapping you, "the only part of you that we actually need is your hands, so if you don't want Mike to start breaking you piece by piece, you are going to be quiet and stop fighting as of 5 seconds ago."

 

You stilled immediately, letting out a quiet sob in response as your throat squeezed tight.

 

Aside from Mike's grip never loosening, you held perfectly still out of sheer terror and listened to your rapid heartbeat pounding in your head, your captors falling silent for the duration of the ride. You lost track of where you were in the city after only a few minutes, frustrated tears tracking down your cheeks and wetting Mike's calloused hand.

 

Questions had begun to rifle through your mind as the SUV pulled into some kind of underground parking garage. Who were these people? Why did they need your hands? What was going to happen to you when and if you gave them what they wanted? Your skin was crawling by the time you were roughly jostled out of the vehicle, landing hard on your feet and being directed by a hand around your arm.

 

Your eyes flew around, trying to discern where you were once again but it was all very nondescript, nothing that screamed evil kidnapper hideout other than an overabundance of black vehicles. Several sets of footsteps echoed back from the concrete and you threw a worried look back at the two men following as you were lead into an elevator. Neatly surrounded inside, you jumped hard when a sack was put over your head from behind before stilling at the squeeze of warning you received.

 

"Not that you're going to escape, but just in case," the man behind you sneered.

 

"Why am I here?" You said, taking the risk and squirming as the grip on your arm tightened further.

 

"Shut up," your original kidnapper said in that flat tone, "you will know when we decide to tell you."

 

Not wanting to push your luck further you fell silent and let yourself be clumsily lead from the elevator after a lengthy pause. Tiles clacked under your boots and there was a faint smell of bleach in your nostrils. There were other people here, quiet conversations pausing as you came close and resuming after you passed by.

 

The man holding your arm drew you to a sharp stop and you heard the clicking of buttons being pressed followed by what you thought might be the familiar swipe of a key card, which further cemented the idea of you not escaping here. Jaw clenching hard, your lip trembled and your eyes watered but you did not allow yourself the full body sob you wanted to unleash as a door clacked open and you were pressed forwards again. The air shifted from warm to cold on your damp cheeks.

 

One more stop. One more door that made an angry grinding noise when opened, then your hood was tugged off and you were roughly shoved forwards. Stumbling, you looked over your shoulder just in time for the door of your prison to slam shut. When you looked forwards to see a concrete square with all the charm of an actual prison cell and a two-way mirror dominating the wall across from a small cot, you let out that gut-wrenching sob that you'd fought to keep back.

 

You walked to the side of the cot and edged your boots off, laying down, facing the grey wall and closing your eyes tightly, hands in a cup shape in front of your chest. Comforting warmth flooded up your arms and radiated at your fingertips until a light weight filled your hands and pressed against your jacket. With trembling hands you held your spirit animal in a gentle but desperate embrace, your shoulders shaking as you cried and felt its small face rubbing into your neck.

 

There were many theories about spirit animals, scientific or otherwise, about why humans had them and what they represented, if anything. For your average person it was a simple social matter: if yours was weird you got made fun of and if it was cool you were held on a pedestal for it. Yours was weird enough that you never disclosed it in any employment forms, to say the least.

 

Theories about the animal being based off of geography were completely off: your animal alone shattered that one, not to mention that some people had mythical creatures that didn't actually exist. No, spirit animals were largely a mystery other than those who have matching ones were forever entwined, for better or for worse.

 

The warmth and quiet snuggling soothed you enough to fall into an emotionally exhausted sleep, fingertips dipping between hard scales.

 

"Looks like a pinecone," the tech muttered, squinting at the monitor display and tilting his head.

 

Striding into the small room, Cassidy Penny took in the scene with a sharp eye from behind her glasses. "What are you looking at?" She said sharply to the hunched over man.

 

"Trying to figure out what that spirit animal is," he admitted, leaning back and gesturing for his boss to take a look.

 

Delicate brows pinching together, she stepped in close and leaned forwards, lips pulling into a tight frown after a few seconds. "Is Rumlow on base?"

 

"No, he is due back in 3 days," he said.

 

"Rollins then?"

 

"Rollins is on base, yes."

 

"Contact him and tell him I needed him here 5 minutes ago," she straightened up and watched the tech stammer out a surprised _yes ma'am_ and leave her alone in the room. Arms crossed, she looked up from the monitors and watched the captive Stark employee through the glass instead. If her hunch was correct, the situation had evolved to Hydra's further benefit.

 

No more than 3 minutes later did the large form of Jack Rollins enter the room. While he did not normally have a facial expression that strayed far from resting murder face, his eyes had the glint of curiosity to them. "What is it? That the Stark girl?" He turned his gaze from Cassidy and looked at the form curled up on the tiny cot.

 

"Yes. I want you to take a look at this," she crooked a finger at him, stepping aside when he complied, "and tell me if that is what I think it is."

 

Definitely curious now, he leaned over and looked closely at the small creature, only needing a few seconds before his brow shot up towards his hairline and he did a double-take. "Wow," he muttered.

 

"That's what I thought," Cassidy said, grinning then, "we need to fabricate her absence quickly before they notice she is gone."

 

He nodded slightly, agreeing with her assessment. "I'm on it. Lucky girl," he said dryly. Brock was not going to like this, not at all. Hell, it was well known for people who mentioned his spirit animal to end up having unfortunate accidents not long after or, if they were lucky, to just get punched in the face outright. Jack caught hell from the Americans for his tasmanian devil, but it never bothered him.  Tazzy was cool.

 

After an undetermined amount of time, you were roused by a sharp female voice filling your cell. "Wake up," she said.

 

Jerking awake, your spirit animal having left you with empty hands at some point, you sat up and looked around in alarm as you remembered where you were. "I'm awake," you said, looking at the two-way mirror while cautiously tugging your boots on from the edge of the cot.

 

"Have a seat at the desk and place your hands on it," the voice instructed.

 

A desk? You looked around again and to your surprise there was a small desk with a flimsy chair directly in front of your cot and against the wall, you were just so distressed earlier you missed it. Swallowing, you rose to your feet and did as instructed, the chill of the desk seeped through your skin uncomfortably.

 

"Do not move," the voice instructed you as your cell door rasped open and someone walked in on light feet.

 

You jumped a little when a laptop and mouse were placed in front of you, keeping your head low and eyes facing down, worried the more you saw the more danger you were in. A few brisk steps and the cell door shut heavily, leaving you alone with the disembodied voice once again.

 

"Open it," the voice said and you complied quickly, nerves fraying further by the second.

 

When the Stark Industries logo appeared as the boot screen, followed by the standard password prompt that you faced every day when logging in to work, your chest tightened. So this was about Dr. Fosters research, you thought. Before you could be prompted again, you typed in your password and watched as your desktop was revealed.

 

"What do you need me to do?" You said. The way Dr. Fosters information was handled meant you wouldn't be able to give them anything except what was immediately passed down to you for the day, but that was still plenty bad. Worse yet was what these people might do with it or to you when they realized that they couldn't get a hold of everything they wanted.

 

"You will do your job," the voice said firmly, "a meal will be brought to you two times per day. If you choose to not cooperate, you will find Hydra has ways to force compliance and you will not like any of them."

 

Your stomach dropped out of you. Hydra. You were not ignorant of the DC debacle, but to know the evil Nazi organization was still out there doing its thing and had you in its clutches was both terrifying and sobering. Sucking in a breath when your lungs began to sting, you croaked, "okay," and began to engage in your work mechanically.

 

Who would question a little worker ant like you disappearing? Matter of fact, what had Hydra already done to ensure that Dr. Fosters research was being sent to you remotely? Maybe your absence was being covered, you never heard of the heavily protected research ever being allowed to be sent out like this before.

 

It was possible that your only hope lay in the never ending nosiness of one Tony Stark. You sipped at a glass of water you had been handed after a few hours, brows furrowed in deep thought. Was Hydra aware of your interactions with the Iron Man? It was doubtful, you didn't recall anyone ever noticing him before and your coworkers would have _definitely_ mentioned that.

 

There was something extra wrong about carrying on like nothing had changed. No one interacted with you other than the exchange of food and, disturbingly, a few sets of clothes that were definitely from your home. It felt like you had your foot hovering over a bear trap, one slip and it would clamp down and you would be done.

 

On the third day, that metaphorical bear trap was tripped.

 

"Good morning," the now-familiar voice of the woman woke you up as it had the other morning, indicating it was time to get to work.

 

Making a rough noise, you pulled yourself out of the cot and muttered, "good morning," out of reflex, starting your morning routine while the laptop booted up with a quiet humm.

 

"You have been doing good work, Hydra appreciates your cooperation, but today there will be an addition to your job," the voice said in a tone that did not bode well for you.

 

"Okay," you said, skin prickling nervously as you settled into your chair.

 

"You will manifest your anima and keep it out for the day," the woman said.

 

Anima, the scientific term for spirit animals, the wording gave you a small clue to the nature of your captor. Well, one of them. It was an odd request, but not difficult. Without answering, you raised a hand over your shoulder and made a little stroking gesture with your fingers, the scaled creature manifesting and draping over your shoulder, its long tail coiling at your arm as your fingernails clicked on its black and gold scales.

 

"Good," she said, "continue working."

 

Honestly, it was nice to just have your anima out, normally you were nervous about being teased or pestered over it and refrained while most of your coworkers wandered around with theirs on display. But what was the point of this? You wondered while its short snout rubbed at your neck and ear. Could they do something to it? That would be horrible.

 

You hoped it was more benign, that they just wanted to exert control over you and were testing for disobedience. You weren't about to give them any reason to punish you, not a chance. You scritched under its chin and wiggled your fingers away from its clawed, grasping hands to return to work.

 

You were eating lunch, a ham sandwich with a glass of water, trying to stir up the courage to ask for coffee instead, when the door opened behind you earlier than expected. Your anima's long tongue dipped into the glass when you glanced towards the new person. This man was not like the people who had been bringing you lunch, he was like the men who kidnapped you.

 

Dread froze you in place as you caught his angry expression. He had black hair, shaved at the sides and styled at the top, scarring around his left eye that stretched to an ear that looked like a stump of scar tissue and a muscular, athletic profile. Your lungs seized when you saw what he was holding in his hands, which tightened around it as you noticed it.

 

He stepped forwards and toed the door shut, grim expression stuck in place as you gawked. Your chest hurt from how hard it was clenching. The pangolin in his hands, its scales dark black and tipped with gold just like yours, was a big male and began to unfurl from its ball-like shape and raise its nose in interest in your direction, its long tail coiling and grasping at the mans arm.

 

Dumbstruck, your drink still in hand, you stared while your own pangolin forgot about your drink and walked behind your neck to sniff in their direction. The world around you fell away and real panic gripped your heart as he approached with slow, steady steps, dark eyes pinning you to the spot. You imagined the kind of hellish tortures you might be put through, but nothing really compared to what reality just handed you: your soulmate was clearly with Hydra.

 

Standing one easy stride away, he muttered darkly, "this is bullshit," before his voice rose to a normal conversation level, "stand up." The pangolin in his hands was stretching towards you and making grabby hands.

 

A strangled noise escaped you before you complied, putting your drink down and pushing your chair away while unconsciously shifting your own pangolin to your hands as it stretched out towards its match.

 

He was just staring at you, his expression somehow getting even darker by the second, before you blurted, "what now?"

 

The muscles of his jaw worked a few times before he spoke. "We are tied together. I'm your boss now and you will, without question, do as you are told. Now," he shifted slightly, leaning until he placed his pangolin on the cot, all while eyeing you, "put it down with mine."

 

You had held such little hope of ever meeting your soulmate, but what hope you did have wished desperately to meet a good person and have a happy ending together, just like everyone else. Your eyes stung as you lowered your squirming anima to the lumpy cot. The two creatures were animated and almost cartoonishly silly, heedless of the exchange between their connected humans as they sniffed one another avidly.

 

Could you really be tied to someone this evil? This only happened in bad horror movies. Maybe, you looked up at him, the tiniest bud of hope inside you, maybe he wasn't what he seemed.

 

He loomed and you very much felt trapped. "Tomorrow, you will return to your home and continue working at Stark tower," your eyes bugged at this declaration, "you will report to Hydra at night and you will do anything and everything you are told to do. If you breathe a word of it, you will die."

 

"Why me?" You dared to voice the question, shrinking away from him as his posture shifted into something decidedly aggressive.

 

"Hydra is everywhere. Stark tower, the governments of the world, in your coffee shop, everywhere. DC was nothing." He paused at the same time a strange sensation hit you, making you shiver and glance towards your anima reflexively. You blanched and blushed intensely at the sight, they were doing...what animals do. He glanced as well but seemed otherwise unaffected. "You were just a pawn, now you are more useful. Congratulations," he said dryly.

 

So that was what it felt like to brush with death, this cold feeling that left you breathless. A pawn is disposable, that went without saying. You were going to continue living and breathing strictly because you were now connected to someone in Hydra. Who was this guy really, though? You used the quiet staring contest you had entered to try and evaluate him on a deeper level.

 

Firm black t-shirt, equally black pants with a very functional amount of pockets, boots that were definitely steel toed. Nothing really screamed _high ranking Hydra mastermind_ but the way he was holding himself suggested leadership of some kind and, as a peon yourself, that was something you were familiar with. The muscles suggested a high capacity for dealing damage, too.

 

"This is where you agree with everything I just said," he said, a note of warning in his tone.

 

Gulping, your head bobbed in confirmation. "Yes," you said as another shiver ran up your spine. Something was happening and a part of you knew that it involved the pangolins on the cot, but you did not understand what. If only you had ever taken interest in learning more about them and soulmates, you were kicking yourself for only knowing the barest of basics in that moment.

 

Dispassionate, he looked from you to the animas and let out a quiet huff as they separated. His faded away while yours remained, standing on its hind legs and pointing its nose directly at him. Glaring at you, he said, "tomorrow. Be ready," before turning away sharply and swooping out of the room, the door shutting and locking with a groan.

 

As soon as the door shut you fell upon your anima and sobbed, wrecked, scared and heartbroken. It did not help that the smell of him lingered in the air and now he had a mark on your soul.

 

Tactful as ever, Jack waited a solid 10 minutes before deeming it safe enough to approach Brock, who was stirring a cup of coffee far longer than necessary and staring a hole into the wall. Standing well out of range, Jack said, "how'd it go?"

 

"Fuck off," Brock snapped. Brock and Hydra had not been on the best of terms since he was pulled out of the hospital and experimented on, as his temper degraded the question of where his loyalty lay became stronger.

 

Jack didn't think the ex Strike Alpha team leader, now in hiding and only commanding cloak and dagger ops, would defect, but if he carried on like this he had to know that someone on high would deem him an unnecessary risk, enhanced soldier or not. The addition of finding his soulmate was a curve ball that nobody could have suspected too. This was not the place to confront Brock about any topic however, Hydra had ears and eyes in every room, hall and bathroom stall here. He quietly withdrew.

 

A few minutes later Brock tossed the spoon into the sink with a clatter and beelined for his room in the "employee" apartments above. This situation had just become extra complicated but he was clever enough to see the use of an asset that was strictly under his control and, more importantly, not aligned with Hydra. He felt the bond thoughtfully, like stroking a cat with an invisible hand, it was an odd sensation but it was also a new tool in his arsenal.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some clarification on how the whole spirit animal soulmate thing works here:  
> Now, the reader is mostly ignorant on the subject so you don't necessarily know all of this but there are two parts to bonding. First part: your spirit animals do the do, forming a weak bond, second part: you do the do, completing it.
> 
> Usually this will all be a mutual thing, you are fated to be together after all, but if your partner happens to be malevolent the bond can be abused and used like a club. Brock, being with HYDRA, knows everything you could want to know about how to manipulate a soulmate. This kind of thing is documented as happening to people who succumb to drug abuse, fall to mental illness, etc. No person who abuses their soulmate like this is in their natural state of wellness, that much is known for sure, and it's always a sad story.
> 
> On spirit animals themselves: They are both corporeal and incorporeal. You can summon it up or dismiss it at will. They are thought to be a true representation of your inner workings, but that thought and others are largely hearsay as studies on the creatures tend to fall flat. No one wants their spirit animal to be dissected or tested on and they always disappear when you die. They behave like animals, though the nature of the human they are connected to tends to curb the more embarrassing traits. Strangely, creatures from mythology are also possible, these are exceedingly rare.


	4. Vice World (RollinsxReader *)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Criminal!AU  
> Villain!Reader, Villain!Strike Alpha  
> TAGS: Violence, dubcon, sex as a tool, stalking/hunting, robbery, reader is a cocky seductress/solo villain, Jack and Brock co-lead Strike Alpha as a gang, humor  
> Summary: Strike Alpha sets up shop in Reader's city and she steals their ill gotten gains as a lesson, mocking the hell out of them and triggering a series of violent-turned-sexy encounters between herself and the leaders of this gang.

The first time you encountered the Strike Alpha gang was arguably the funniest experience you ever had.

 

6 men dressed in all black tactical outfits piled into a black van that took off smoothly, the driver keeping to the speed limit and guiding them safely out of the parking garage and into the city. The air was electrically charged, at first with tension as each man listened intently for the sound of sirens and pursuit, until it shifted to the rush of victory as they began to tug their face masks and head covers off, grinning like cheshire cats.

 

"Good job boys," one dark haired, dark eyed man said, slapping the broad man next to him on the shoulder with brotherly affection. "Hell of a haul, how do you feel about retirement?"

 

You grinned quietly, ear bud pressed into your ear as you listened in, watching the grainy video footage the hidden camera was picking up.

 

"Retire?" The man he'd slapped, broad with slicked back hair, chuckled, "you'd get bored."

 

There was a general murmur of agreement until the man in the passenger seat up front called back, "and you're going to blow it all on hookers and booze anyways."

 

Sounding affronted, the man in question, clearly the leader at this point, said, "there are many men in this van that need to shell out money for pussy, I am definitely not one of them." He grinned wolfishly as they laughed.

 

Then the driver spoke. "You're right, at your age it's the viagra that's the real cost!"

 

Spluttering as the laughter became wilder, he snapped, "you're lucky you're driving, asshole! First round's on you."

 

The driver shrugged and grinned, clearly it was worth it.

 

"Hey guys?" A man with decidedly long limbs called to them with a nervousness in his voice that made you grin harder. He was looking into the back where their loot had been chucked. One dufflebag of cash each, in fact. He called to them a few more times before the laughter died down and sufficient attention was given. "Where'd the bags go?"

 

"What? You best be fucking with me, Slendy," the leader said sharply, springing to the back to look himself in one smooth movement. The silence that fell over them was so perfect, were it not for the purring of the engine you could hear a pin drop even through your little microphone. Deadly quiet, the man stretched forwards and down, grasping on to the gift you'd left behind.

 

It was a small, cheap tablet, easy enough to rig up and you could tell just by how this was going down that the extra effort was going to be _well_ worth it. Someone muttered a confused, "what the fuck?" As the leader, who you knew to be one Brock Rumlow, thumbed on the device.

 

The men crowded around to watch the video footage as it began to play. It was their runner, Slendy, throwing bag after bag into the back of the van while the rest of the team committed the robbery inside the bank. The problem was, every time Slendy ran off to get another pair of bags a woman in a similar tactical outfit swooped in and stole it. Slendy never noticed.

 

The audio from the tablet was too quiet for you to hear, but you knew full well what it said. Your voice would be mocking them right now, ran through a scrambler of course, juvenile mistakes like letting them hear your real voice were well below you.

 

"You boys really need to learn to watch your cargo, but then again I suppose there's only so much you can expect out of a gang called 'Strike Alpha', I mean, really? Hilarious," your voice cooed as the men watching glared murderously between the tablet and the now profusely sweaty and scared looking Slendy.

 

"Consider this a friendly warning: this city is my territory and you are not welcome in it. This will be the first of many losses for you should you try to continue operating here. Have a nice night boys. Oh, this message will self destruct in 3...2..." There was a shout and the tablet flew around like a hot potato right before a loud pop went off and the video footage was obscured by a literal cloud of rainbow glitter.

 

Tossing your head back, you howled with laughter so long and so hard you dropped the tablet and the earbud fell out. Thank God you were recording this footage, it was truly priceless.

 

The second time you encountered Strike Alpha...well, there wasn't _supposed_ to be a second time.

 

Your original encounter with the gang was a distant thought, especially since you were in the process of an awesome vacation on the beautiful island of Sardinia with your ill-gotten gains, a smug smile on your face as you sipped at a mojito and reclined beside a pool. There weren't too many opportunities to get a nice tan in your line of work and you would be damned if you weren't going to capitalize on it.

 

At night you fell back to the hotel to switch up your outfit and went right back out, the night life here agreed with you and finding a club was an easy thing. Several drinks deep you found yourself on the dance floor, a glass of campari in hand, a grin on your face and your ass in the large hands of a man you had yet to look in the face. Why ruin the fantasy? His body felt great, hard and tall against your back.

 

You wondered if you could go the whole night without looking him in the eye, just for fun. As it was, one of his hands curled around your front and pressed into your stomach, pulling you back into him more firmly while his free hand carried a dark drink over your head for a swig. You tipped your head back into his chest and grinned up at him, watching his adam's apple bob, following the line of his stubbled jaw to his square chin.

 

When his head tipped forwards and he grinned down at you, you noted the thick scar that lead from his jaw to his mouth and thought it made him especially rugged looking right before you had a flash of recognition that made your brain freeze. The scar, the slicked back hair, flat green eyes that suddenly looked very, very unfriendly. He was Jack Rollins.

 

Recovering a moment later, you brought your drink to your lips and held his gaze as you drank, thoughts suddenly rushing like a runaway train. Shaking your hips, you broke eye contact and continued the dance with languid grace, covertly looking over the people around you now, trying to figure out just how deep into the shit you were.

 

A familiar head of dark hair caught your eye as the man behind you leaned down and murmured into your ear, "want to take this elsewhere?" His thick Australian accent was also hot, even if he probably wanted to dig his fingers into your neck right then and there.

 

Cursing yourself for letting your guard down so readily, all the touching that had gone on between you...he had gotten free rein to check you for weapons and wanted to make his move now. Keeping your impish demeanor in place, you shimmied out of his loose grip and turned to wink up at him, wiggling a finger. "I'm good," you said.

 

His smile fell slightly, eyes hooding as he raised his glass to you, arm curling around a woman who spotted him free and lined herself up with his side. Good, he'd be distracted for at least a second or so. You weaved your way towards the washrooms, placing your half finished drink down along the way, willing adrenaline to burn away the intoxication quickly.

 

There were eyes on your back, you felt them now, as you swooped into the woman's washroom. It was likely that Rollins relayed your lack of arms to his boss, Rumlow, which meant that you were going to have company in...

 

The door swung back open 2 seconds after it closed, the heavier gait of a man hitting the tiled floors.

 

Turning on your heel, you were glad that you chose to wear some simple sandals versus sexier, less practical options. Especially when you made eye contact with a murderous looking Rumlow. To your credit, you smiled right before he charged.

 

You ruminated on the mistake of underestimating a gang that nobody knew anything about, other than 'they are a bunch of ex-mercenary badasses', as you were caught up in a brief struggle with the snarling man. Landing a few solid hits and a knee to the groin that was deftly deflected, you were quickly bullied up against a wall and lifted from the ground by a hand on your throat.

 

"Where is my _money_?" He hissed, giving you a violent shake and glaring with the intensity of the sun, teeth bared.

 

It was clear Rollins' wandering hands hadn't detected the one weapon you were carrying under that calf length dress of yours. You tapped the hand around your neck lightly, indicating you needed more give if he really wanted you talking. He squeezed harder and smushed you into the wall with his body harshly before relenting just enough.

 

"Anyone ever tell you, you are hot when you are angry?" You grinned wolfishly at him, lifting a leg and draping it over his hip.

 

"You think this is a game bitch?" He looked livid, veins in his forehead and temples throbbing. "It doesn't even matter if you tell me, you're dead either way," he growled.

 

Biting your lip before giving it a quick lick, you pressed on, undaunted. "A man like you must value his _tackle_ ," you grinned wickedly as he stiffened, realizing the angle of your leg and that your hand was on your inner thigh, wrapped around something hiding under your dress. "I suggest letting me down nice and slow," you purred.

 

You could feel a tremor run through his calloused hand as his fingers unwound from your neck and he lowered you slowly to your foot while you deftly tugged your dress up and loosened your tiny pistol from its holster, never wavering from his junk. Jack must have thought the strap belonged to your garter as you had it on both thighs. His mistake.

 

"Good boy," you teased, utterly confident as he took a long step backwards, hands spread, eyes burning and lips a hard line. "How did you find me anyways?"

 

"We have this building surrounded," he glowered, "you aren't getting out of this alive."

 

"I beg to differ," your lips spread into a broad grin as the door swung open and you lunged forwards, grasping the front of his t-shirt and yanking his lips down to yours while firmly jabbing your gun into his crotch.

 

"Ugh! Get out and get a room!" A disgusted woman's voice said from behind Brock as he made a disgruntled noise, your tongue darting out of his mouth a millisecond before his teeth snapped shut.

 

"Sorry," you said, licking his taste off your lips, there was whiskey in there, you determined, before murmuring in a heated tone, "let's get a room baby." You emphasized your statement with another little jab at his privates.

 

He acquiesced, hands carefully grasping your hips as he backed up and shuffled past the glaring woman. You smiled naughtily at her and winked, getting a huff in return. Brock wanted to move this to the streets where he had backup, where he could turn this around, so he listened.

 

"Out the back," you instructed, getting him to turn around in the hall and lead the way. The gun you currently had was so weak it probably wouldn't even make it through the muscle of his delightfully carved ass, but nobody liked getting shot. As the cool night air hit the two of you, you glanced around for his backup and caught the eye of a man in an idling car at the corner to your left.

 

"Last chance," Brock said, voice much less intense as he came to a stop on the path. It was not wide enough that the car would be able to pursue, you decided.

 

"I'll pass," you said and, without hesitation, shot him right in the ass cheek. Someone shouted a second after the pop of gunfire and you knew it was time to run.

 

"AAGH!" He howled, jumping and falling to a knee as he reached for the wound and cursed up a blue streak.

 

Your sandals flew off your feet as you took off, popping the safety on and stuffing the gun into your bra. Getting arrested for carrying illegal weaponry in Cagliari and finding out how cozy their jail cells were wasn't on your bucket list. A familiar face rounded a corner, another of Brock's team, and your elbow cracked sharply against his face, leaving him stumbling and reaching for his broken nose as you made your getaway.

 

Being followed was a real concern so you zigged, zagged and doubled back on your path several times over before entering your hotel looking more than a little disheveled and breathless. The man behind the counter did his best to gloss over your appearance, smiling and nodding at you mechanically as you zipped past. It was a shame to cut your vacation short but survival has always been a top priority for you, you mused as you opened the door to your room and slipped inside.

 

As soon as the lock twisted in place, a now-familiar voice spoke, "you've been a real naughty sheila."

 

"Fuck," you blurted, looking sharply in the direction of Jack Rollins, who was standing in the bathroom doorway with a pistol pointed at you and a lazy grin on his face.

 

"Uhuh," he said, leaning off the door frame and stalking towards you, "where'd you hide that little gun of yours, hmm? Inner thigh? Go ahead and toss it on the bed." He jerked his head towards the bed in emphasis, gun never straying from you.

 

Acknowledging his win, you slowly reached into your bra and pulled the gun out, watching him smirk and chuckle before you tossed it to the bed. "How'd you know my weakness was Australian accents?" You smiled weakly and batted your lashes.

 

"You're a real viper," he was smirking, eyes glittering with amusement as he stopped just out of reach, "I'd laugh about you shooting Rumlow in the ass, but you did steal an awful lot of money from us."

 

"Yeah, about that," you smirked right back, waiting for his guard to drop, "how do you figure you're going to get the money out of me?" You took a moment to wonder at the attractiveness of the men in this stupid gang, they were like a manly boy band of criminals. Maybe you should have just fucked them instead, you mused.

 

"Well, first you're going to boot up these two laptops here," he gestured with his free hand towards the small table across from the bed, your laptop and an unknown one sitting beside it, "and then we're going to do a little banking, sweety."

 

"And if I refuse?" You wondered out loud.

 

"I'm not above just shooting you and going on my way, cut our losses and move on," he half shrugged, indifferent.

 

"I'd sure hate to die without one last good roll in the hay, especially after all that grinding you and I did," you leveled your best sinful smile at him, "you can't fake that chubby you were sporting."

 

His next move completely surprised you. His thumb flicked the safety on and he tossed the pistol to the bed beside your small one. "You make it to that gun in time, you can-" his eyes widened slightly as you darted for it before he finished his idiotic statement.

 

If he wanted to underestimate you, well that was his problem.

 

You let out a sharp hiss as you leaped forwards, hands outstretched for both guns, when Jack's bulk crashed into your slender form and mashed you into the bed as your fingers curled around the weapons. His hands came down a half second later as you snarled, grasping your wrists and crushing them in a vice grip. "Rr-ah! Guh!" You squirmed and tried to snake out of the grip, but it just tightened further until your fingers lost their power and the guns fell off the bed with a dull clatter.

 

His chuckle vibrated against your back as his grip loosened slightly, thumbs caressing your skin as he shifted around, pressing his groin directly against the cleft of your ass and nudging his face against the side of yours, breath hot on your ear. "This what gets you worked up? You were cool as a cucumber on that dance floor, getting me all bothered, and now you're all hot and panting."

 

Your stomach flip flopped and his voice, a soft growl, sent a spike of want right between your legs. Voice airy, you murmured, "imminent death does it for me."

 

"Guess we better capitalize," he nipped the shell of your ear before shifting your wrists to his one hand, reaching back with his now free one and rucking up your dress roughly. For all his teasing, his own breath was coming faster too.

 

You were ready by the time his exposed cock slid between your legs and rubbed along your folds, eliciting a shiver from you and a low groan from him. "Bad girl," he whispered before finding your entrance and driving into you with one harsh thrust, making you cry out and arch your back. He pinned you down harder with his bulk in response and caught you at the stomach with his free hand, tugging your hips up and into his rough thrusts.

 

Unable to participate more than trying to press your ass back into the pounding, you tossed your head back and sung your pleasure while laughing breathlessly. "What will your boss think?" You teased, gasping from a particularly hard snap of his hips.

 

"As long as the job gets done," he growled into your ear, his voice making your skin feel like it was electrically charged while he squeezed your wrists together in a punishing grip, "doesn't matter."

 

"Ah-fff-uh! _Harder_!" You snarled at him, urging him on as your orgasm approached, heedless of your volume as your legs curled up and you tried to pull him inwards with your feet on his flexing ass.

 

His fingers curled at your stomach and he yanked you upwards to a better angle and pounded you with a single-minded fury that sent you soaring, his grunts and growls punctuated by the wet slapping of flesh. He fucked you right through your orgasm and your vision whited out for what felt like an eternity, it had been a while since you had a vaginal orgasm, you could appreciate the good work being done here.  Once your brain unscrambled, that is.

 

He snarled something about a hellcat and lost the rhythm of his thrusting soon after, warmth spreading inside you as your spasming insides milked him for all he was worth until he collapsed on top of you with one last jerky thrust and a shout.

 

Both of you lay there panting, but it was you who noticed first how his grip on your wrists had loosened. "Mm," you practically purred, enjoying the pleasantly squished feeling along with the afterglow.

 

"Like that?" He sounded a little smug as he grinned into your ear.

 

Your eyes crinkled at the corners as you grinned sharply, "just the way I like it." There was a loud crack as your elbow snapped up and collided with his temple, his body falling limp as unconsciousness greeted him.

 

Despite knowing it was a bad idea, you let him live. You just couldn't take a man who knew how to fuck properly out of the world like that. Well, not this time anyway. Sardinia and the wounded manhood of Strike Alpha in your rear view mirror, you made good on your escape that very night, grinning at the island as it shrank and sea spray misted your face.  When you noticed a little glitter stuck to your skin and clothes, you howled with laughter all over again.

 

You'd hole up in one of your nooks in Germany and do some more thorough research on these guys, you decided. If they found you in Italy, who knew how many of your locations were compromised. That was the thing though, you weren't forthcoming with this kind of information, how did they find you in the first place? Perhaps, you mused, it was time to pay some of your 'trusted friends' a visit.

 

There was also the question just how much money were these guys willing to blow to try and catch you, it might be wise to just find a secure place to wait for this to blow over.

 

Nah. That wasn't your style. Plus, after being shot in the ass and knocked unconscious, you figured at least two of these men were livid enough that money was no longer an object in the pursuit of revenge. Pride was tricky like that.

 


	5. Vice World 2 (RumlowxReaderxRollins *)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Criminal!AU  
> Villain!Reader, Villain!Strike Alpha  
> TAGS: Violence, RAPE, stalking/hunting, sex pollen(male only), inappropriate use of paintballs, humor  
> Summary: Reader fully realizes her goof and is rolling with it as best she can. Circumstances lead her to acquire an interesting weapon and she decides to make use of it.

It turned out that Strike Alpha, while a stupid name that held little to no value in the criminal world, had a _shit ton_ of street cred in the mercenary/military circles of the world. That was a problem. Rarely did you ever make such a serious oversight.

 

So you might be living inside a panic room under a barn in Kansas right now, but you were working on it.

 

"Why do you want to know about them?" Your contact questioned over the phone.

 

"Curiosity," you lied easily, then sighed, "don't say it."

 

"Killed the-" you hung up and tossed the phone over your shoulder to the bed with a disgusted noise. An alert had popped up for one of your safe houses in the Americas and you were looking at the security feed with a frown. That was one of the boltholes you stayed in on your way to your current place of residence.

 

It was only natural paranoia that saved you from being caught with your pants down in Germany, you'd been on the move ever since, Strike Alpha hunting you down one hidey hole to the next.

 

As you watched the team cave in the doors of your safe house and raid it, you grit your teeth in quiet anger. Blindly you reached backwards from your seat and grabbed up your phone, dialing an old number by heart. When the line opened up and a soft _click_ was heard, you tapped out a quick rhythm with your fingernail in response and waited.

 

"I thought you weren't interested?" A smooth male voice teased.

 

"Times change," you muttered. Accepting the job was the only way Ceiliano, who you long mockingly referred to as 'C-string', would be within your grasp at any point. No one knew more about you than him and given how doggedly and accurately Rumlow and his goons had been pursuing you, he was a traitor of the highest order.

 

"I'll send you the details. Timeline is tight, you need to hit the ground running if you're going to pull it off before the product gets moved," he said, the call ending right after.

 

You smiled as the dark silhouette of Rumlow grabbed the USB you left behind on your mattress. It was the footage of him and his men getting glitter bombed. Poking the bear was a favorite pastime of yours.

 

Laughing all over again when he threw the tablet he was watching the footage on in a fit of pique, you stood up and took a mental inventory of everything you had on hand in the panic room and safe house above. It was time to leave a more meaningful gift behind, you decided. You may not know very much about them, but you were confident they also had a limited picture of you too.

 

They were recklessly chasing after you now, hunting you like an animal, and reckless meant mistakes. Thinking you wouldn't bite back was a big mistake. Time to dust off the old C-4.

 

Dedicating the day to filling the unused farm house with booby traps, you read over the details of the job emailed to you and slept in the panic room that night, taking off in your painfully nondescript Honda civic the next day. There were a solid 1400 or so miles between Kansas and Manhattan. The best part was you might drive right past your pursuers, no one the wiser.  Of course, you were still doing this awfully stupid job because of them and were on a pretty set course to murder an old ally, so it was only so funny. You kept a keen eye on the Kansas state level news and were mildly surprised when the explosion of the farm house made the headlines maybe 15 hours after you had left. They were getting closer, faster. Hopefully they were just a big pile of charcoal now, you mused.

 

No bodies were reported in the hours that followed, but they didn't discover your panic room under the barn either, if all the news was being given. So who knew how well a job those people were actually doing, there were suspicions of it being a meth lab explosion, for crying out loud.

 

You were deadass tired by the time you rolled into Manhattan, the tight timetable left you squeezing out as many hours driving and as few hours sleeping as you could manage. There was a laundry list of things that needed doing before Ceiliano's particularly dangerous task. Tired of losing your damn hidey holes, you found yourself a tidy B&B with a discerning owner to operate out of for the duration of your stay.

 

A few terse calls and an hour or two later you found yourself sitting across from a gruff looking man in a dive bar that really lived up to the name. He had yet to speak or drink from the beer bottle his hairy bear-like hand was curled around, just quietly staring and assessing. This was a calculated risk, you did not run in these circles and there was no telling if your probing would go beneath the radar of the people you were asking about.

 

Unfortunately your time was limited and you needed this conversation to get underway. Taking a swig of your own cheap beer, you expertly hid your grimace at the taste and wet your lips with your tongue before speaking. His eyes tracked the movement. "Strike Alpha," you said abruptly.

 

His eyes flashed, whole body stiffening for just the faintest of moments before his uncaring, calculated look returned. That was what you were looking for and you gave him a subtle smile, letting him know that you saw that. "Yeah?" He grunted at you, voice so gravelly you thought the descriptor might be literal.

 

"Needed to know if you're familiar with the name and the men who use it, which you obviously are. So, tell me about them," you said, keeping your demeanor cool.

 

Another flash of recognition blipped across his face, but this time he didn't hide it as his lips curled back into a yellow toothed grin. "So you're the one who fucked them over."

 

"My reputation precedes me?" You quirked a brow.

 

He barked a harsh laugh and took a swig of his drink then, suddenly jovial and animated. "You could say that. Sure, I'll tell you about them, girly, you ain't long for this world anyways. Not after you shot one of the most decorated former spec-ops hardasses on earth in the ass." His shoulders trembled at that, the man was practically _giggling_.

 

Your lip tugged into a brief half smirk. You liked the idea of the world knowing about the cheek shot. "I'm listening," you said, raising your beer for a clink.

 

By the time he got done talking you felt a little chilled by what you had learned and it did not surprise you in the least when he smirked and informed you that Rumlow would hear about this little meeting too. You threw some bills on the table and bid Scrapyard- what was it with these men and their crappy nicknames?- good night. It was not prudent to inform him that Brock had most likely been on the receiving end of a very large fireball, you didn't need to get into a brawl just then. It was time to get ready for your mission.

 

If you learned anything about Brock Rumlow, aka Crossbones, it was that he was not going to let this issue go, he'd hold it close to his chest like a lover until he got to exact his revenge. Letting him chase you across the globe and blow up a hundred hideouts along the way was not how you were going to turn this tide, you thought about more proactive strategies while simultaneously gearing up for and combing over the Ceiliano job.

 

Rumlow also had the kind of contacts that you would touch yourself at night dreaming about possessing. This could get real ugly.

 

You sniffed disdainfully and tugged on your boots, giving your hidden weaponry one last check over before shouldering on your empty backpack and shifting from the back seat of the rental van to the drivers seat.  Show time.

 

The target building was on the fringes of the corporate sector, just a big, ugly, nondescript square. Parking a few blocks over, you took your time and acted just like every other new yorker: in a hurry and utterly invisible outside of your little bubble. No one looked twice at a woman with a dufflebag and a backpack, crazier things could be seen on a daily basis in the morning commute, no, these people were just getting off work and heading for home.

 

A quick climb over a shoddy fence and some spiderman level climbing later, you were on the roof of the four story building and unscrewing a vent. Vents were fantastic, in your opinion. Men were generally too large to squeeze through them and it was a lot of extra money to add security measures to them. Cutting corners was the way of the corporate world and boy, crime like this was a woman's world.

 

Gently setting aside the covering, you rifled through your dufflebag and switched a few tools over to the otherwise empty backpack before pulling a balaclava over your head, clamping a flashlight between your teeth and lowering yourself into the pitch black shaft head first.

 

The strictly illegal nature of the products inside this building were both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, there was lethal security patrolling around, on the other, nobody would be calling the cops when things went sideways. Sliding through the vents until your boots hit the ground in the basement level, you went to work quickly.

 

There was no avoiding the cameras in the large room, all angles were covered. There was a transparent, square room inside this one, sterile, white and covered in more than a few biohazard symbols. The alarm could go out in a few seconds or the guard watching the cameras could not notice you at all, it was always a toss up with these things.

 

As you opened the door and made for the refrigeration unit at the back of the room that you had observed images of, a siren sounded with a low wail. Sucking in a breath, you shouldered off the backpack and opened it up, tugged the fridge open and grasped the steel container in your hand. It was the size of a tall water bottle and had a decent heft to it.

 

You grabbed one and carefully placed it in the backpack, eyes narrowing when you realized there was plenty of space left. The job was to just grab one, but there was nothing stopping you from grabbing that second one either. An idea forming, you quickly put the two containers together, pulled a short rod out of the bottom of the pack and made for the heavy security door.

 

You activated the rod, which sparked fiercely, and proceeded to jam it into the keypad just as the door tried to open, armed men on the other side. The door opened about an inch and jammed, angry shouting spilling through as you left the rod where it was and briskly walked to the vent you came out of. It was a hell of a climb, but this was a forte of yours.

 

Huffing and puffing by the time you reached the roof, you glanced around before pulling yourself up and taking a few moments to rest, cool night air a balm on your overheated skin. There was no direct access to the roof, so you were okay for the time being.

 

Some time later, after various creative applications of a grappling hook, you were driving towards the drop off point, fingers tightening around the steering wheel as you thought about Ceiliano. Did he really betray you? Could you afford to lose the few sturdy contacts you had? If you killed him, word would get out and there would be bridges burning all over the place.

 

C-string, you decided, was going to have a chance to clear his good name. It was just a matter of actually finding parking space near the Greenway.

 

For someone who prided himself on being very private and hard to find, you could spot C-string a mile away. The man dressed like he was 80 years old with his flat caps, flannel shirts and old man pants. He was sitting on a bench overlooking the water as you approached, you tapped out the code with your nails, the click-clicking feeling loud in your sensitized ears; it always took a while for the post-mission high to wear off. Ugh, he was even wearing loafers.

 

Swinging your backpack off as you sat down, you saw him visibly blanch at your rough treatment. "Easy," he whispered harshly, frowning while he shifted a messenger bag across his lap.

 

"It's been through worse," you reassured him, unzipping the bag and letting him get a glance before tugging it away from his reaching grasp. "Ah ah," you said, taking his measure with your studious gaze.

 

"What?" His brows pinched together and his voice lowered, "you know that the money is wired after I receive the goods. What's the problem?" He looked well rested, wary and a little fidgety. In other words, he looked perfectly normal.

 

You took a slow breath, shoulders relaxing a degree. "Strike Alpha," you said, watching as his expression morphed from confused to wide eyed. His complexion became pale and greenish.

 

"It wasn't you," he said, suddenly breathless.

 

"It was. I thought perhaps you ratted me out, but it just didn't strike me as your style," you said, eyes narrowed.

 

His features hardened into an angry stare, voice going flat, "more fool you. Give it to me and don't even think about looking my way again."

 

"Hm," you said, nonplussed over the situation. If only you contacted C-string when you were initially looking these guys up. Aware of the passing of the seconds, you relented and handed off the container, which he handled as though it would blow up at any moment.

 

His eye caught the second container as you zipped the backpack up. "You were only supposed to take one," he grumbled.

 

"I'm the one who went down there and put my ass on the line, if I want to take two, C-string, I'll take two," you said as you stood up and shouldered the bag, glaring down at him. This was the first burned bridge, you thought. Ceiliano would spread the word and burn others. You were screwed either way, you couldn't make a man like him disappear, not without other people knowing who he was last in contact with.

 

"Goodbye," he said it with such an earnest expression it caught you off guard, right before he stood up and walked away briskly.

 

Today had been particularly fruitless, you decided as you settled into bed in the B&B. You burned some bridges, alerted Strike Alpha that you were in Manhattan, effectively warded off just about all your criminal contacts in one go and all you had to show for it was a bio weapon sitting in your backpack.

 

Popping open your laptop, you checked the Kansas news once more.

 

No bodies found, reports of an unknown helicopter and remnants of C-4 found in the wreckage of the house. The press was getting fired up over it, but there wouldn't be anything further to report until a specialist came to examine the site. A fucking _helicopter_ , you thought, more than a little jealous at this point.  Clearly they caught on to your game and made it out in tact, you wondered what tipped them off.  With a sigh you closed the laptop, placed it aside, rubbed at your tired eyes and passed out into blissful, hard earned oblivion. Getting a solid 6 hours of sleep and a shower made you feel like a human again, even if you woke up flying out of bed when you got jumped in your dreams by menacing armed men.

 

You were sitting at a table eating breakfast, eggs and bacon with a side of toast with blueberry jam and a glass of orange juice, smiling at the nice old woman who served you. "This is excellent, thank you," you said, right before you took a big bite of toast. Your chest seized when, looking out the window idly, you saw a black van roll up the street at a suspiciously slow pace.

 

At a quick-but-not-quite-racing pace, you pulled a wad of cash out of your pocket and counted out the cost of your lodgings, tossing it on the table and standing abruptly. "Gotta jet," you said to the elderly woman who gave you a questioning look, followed by an accusatory one at the unfinished meal. Unfortunately there was no time to placate old Omas, so you made for your room and packed at ludicrous speed while thinking fast.

 

There had to be some kind of tracking device on you. Ceiliano didn't know where you were, you knew that as a certainty. You slipped out the back door, ignoring the squawk of protest that followed, and jumped over a fence. At least you were nice enough to not trample through the beautiful garden. Being thoughtful wasn't exactly one of your known traits.

 

Walking briskly down the alley, you shifted your shoulders, adjusting the weight of the dufflebag and backpack as you tugged your phone out of your pocket and dialed up someone who might be of service. "Lorry," you barked in a gruff tone.

 

Lorry gasped your name, "you shouldn't be calling me, I don't want to die!" He hissed.

 

"You owe me," you snapped before he could pull the phone away, "and you need to ask yourself who you fear more: them or me." Your eyebrows shot towards your hairline when he hung up, then dived downwards into a harsh scowl. It would seem you have become rusty, if Lorry didn't know the proper answer to that statement.

 

When you kicked in the door to his basement apartment, broke his wrist as he raised a gun and slammed him to the floor in one smooth motion, regret was clearly painted on his face. "No!" He cried. Lorry was not a man of action. He was a man of cheetos, mountain dew and computers.

 

"I'd wipe you off the map, Lorry," you growled down at him, flashing teeth, "but I'm in a bit of a bind and you're the only hacker I have handy. Now," you shoved your hand down at him, "get up and get on that computer. We have work to do and not much time."

 

Cradling his wrist to his chest, you'd been kind enough to break his non dominant one, he took your hand and staggered to his feet. "Okay. Okay," he panted, stumbling to his chair and wheeling to his 5 monitor array. "What am I doing?" He looked over his shoulder at you as you scooped up a table chair and jammed it under the handle of his busted door.

 

"You're taking some febreeze to this disgusting hellhole once I'm done, for starters," you sneered, lips curled upwards and nose scrunched in displeasure. Lorry unfortunately filled a lot of nerdy stereotypes. "I need to know how I am being followed and I need to get a bead on the people who are following me."

 

"These people you pissed off have a lot of resources," he warbled as his fingers flew, "hacking street cameras undetected and using facial recognition tech. Neither of those things is easy or cheap."

 

"You manage just fine," you smirked, crossing your arms and watching.

 

"Because I'm damn good and thieves give me what I need," he muttered.

 

"Need any names?" You tilted your head.

 

"No," he swallowed, "I think I found the person who is following you. Caught a hint of another user on the feeds, he's running though."

 

So they were definitely using Lorry's methods to follow you. Perhaps you should have guessed, but having access to all of that in every city and country in the world that you had visited so far? That seemed a stretch. "Find out where he is," you said.

 

He was biting his lip and shaking his head minutely, focusing with single-minded intensity on his task. You jumped slightly when his screen blacked out, a blue screen error popping up on all 5 monitors followed by Lorry slamming his hand on the desk and shouting, "fuck!"

 

You quirked a brow, "guess you met your match."

 

He rubbed at his patchy stubble and turned in his chair to face you. "Look, I tried my best, you saw yourself, but I can't- and I'm-" he raised his broken wrist slightly, face pained, "I need to get this looked at and I don't want to die."

 

You were already leaving, a plan percolating in your head. "You do that," you muttered as you kicked the chair out of the way, paused, walked to his mountain of filthy clothes and fished out a huge hoodie. Stifling a gag at the rotting onion odor, you shucked your bags quickly and pulled it on, the hood obscuring your face.  Suitably disguised, you pulled all your bags back on and left, putting a skip in your step to look extra different but still move fast. They would still find you, being the only person entering and leaving Lorry's place with two bags, but it might throw them off long enough for your plan to come to fruition.

 

Time to visit an old haunt. After you picked up a paintball gun, that is.

 

With a few hours time bought, you got your hands on the gun, a T68 Sniper Rifle Paintball Gun that you had a private nerdgasm over, and all the tools you needed for your...unique paintballs to be made. Figuring out how to get the smokey liquid from the canister into the balls themselves proved to be the hardest part, but you managed. You weren't a chump.

 

Your old haunt, a warehouse that was well known in the darker social circles of Manhattan, was thankfully empty of other elements on this evening. Usually you would make sure there was enough notice of an exchange happening that other rogues and gangs would avoid it out of professional courtesy. It was a claustrophobic nightmare of stacked boxes and shipping crates, all kinds of cover and hidey holes. You knew all of them, of course, knowing the lay of the land was why you picked it in the first place.

 

With a bit of work and patience you got up into the rusty rafters and hopped around, beam to beam, until you settled for a nest with a good escape route of a nearby broken window. The shadows hugged you tightly as you settled in, setting up the bipod for the rifle and loading it up. You were in your full tactical gear, including your not normally worn vest with ceramic plating.  You didn't plan on getting up close and personal, not until the situation was well under your control, but shit happens and these guys were capable of knocking your teeth out with little effort. All it took was one slip up on your end. One hanging overhead light illuminated the area below you, buzzing loudly as night fell and the shadows filled out until it was just a lonely pool of light in a gaping abyss.

 

A door scraping open in the distance made the hairs on your neck stand up, eyes sharpening and blood flowing from idle to rushing in a second. They were so quiet, you only caught a hint of two of them down there, creeping inwards and sweeping the perimeter methodically. Your eyes widened when a sound to your right called your attention, someone was crawling through the broken window not 5 feet from you.

 

Catlike, you rose to your feet and closed the gap as the man, armed with an assault rifle for Christ sakes, looked to his right first. "EY!" A harsh shout came from below just as you were reaching for him, both of you jumping slightly and him looking your way sharply.

 

"Ey," you said cheekily as you sprung, catching the edge of the window with one hand, ramming your body into his and scooping a leg upwards, shoving it into his back and sending him flying downwards, his balance long lost as he chose to try and aim his gun at you instead of secure his footing.

 

A bullet sparked off the corrugated steel beside you as your target landed with a loud snap and a scream. He landed very poorly by the look of it, probably a broken ankle. Trying to keep your cool, understanding fully that you were very hard to spot and that had been a wild shot, you scooted back to your waiting gun and took aim. They probably didn't expect you to double down on your position.

 

The man you knocked down was partially in the light and trying to crawl out of it. All your senses were on high alert as you watched, someone was going to try and help him, to pull him out of your line of fire...there. A form melted out of the dark and leaned over him slightly, catching him under the arm and making to pull him away.

 

POP

 

Your finger eased off the trigger as a cloud of vapor erupted from the shoulder of the target and a shout went out. "Chemicals!" The target shouted but kept dragging his teammate to safety anyways. Position exposed, you quickly folded the bipod out from under it and stood up, running across the beams deftly through the dark, relying on your memory and the faint outlines to not have an unfortunate fall.

 

There were low, hushed snarls echoing from below, but you couldn't make out any more targets. They were making good use of the cover and no doubt looking up now. You wondered how fast the chemical was going to take effect. A disgruntled noise and sharply muttered question suggested you knew the answer.

 

Walking from the beam to the top of a highly stacked container, you cautiously peered over the sides, trying to catch someone in the act of hiding while you fingered your zip ties thoughtfully. It might be wise to pull out, you thought before shaking your head at the idea. The two you infected were going to be in need of _intervention_ soon, if what you read about the chemical was true, they would have to pull out themselves and you could capitalize then.

 

"Pollen?" A familiar voice hissed from below.

 

Your eyes narrowed and you readied the rifle, leaning forwards and catching the faint outline of Brock and what you thought might be Jack too, they were conversing, heads close, adjusting their own game plan. It was too damn perfect. Gently, lovingly, you fingered the trigger and let it fly with another loud pop.

 

It wasn't possible but in the space between the paintball being launched and arriving at the target, Brock tensed, snarled and threw himself and Jack to the side violently as the ball hit the dirt floor and erupted with a poof. Muttering a soft curse, you backed off and hopped back on the beam, shuffling forwards and trying to catch sight of the two men again to no avail.

 

Licking your lips, you cupped a hand to the side of your mouth and threw your voice. "You best stop boring me gentlemen, come play or I'm leaving."

 

Someone growled like an animal and you felt a flicker of uncertainty as several loud clatters rattled through the building, objects being scaled real fast. There. You took aim and caught one man who was exposed, too low to reach a beam without a long jump, catching him in the chest with a paintball that rocked him.

 

Keeping your breathing even as you walked further along the beam, you calmly popped another paintball into the chamber as you made for the wall opposite the window, wanting a wide field of view with the faint light from the window silhouetting your enemies. There were faint, agonized groans now, the chemical doing its work.

 

You almost didn't notice the shadow creeping along the wall at a frighteningly fast pace, a near-silent run. Eyes widening, you leaped out over the boxes below you as Brock leaped forwards, face like a snarling demon, knife in hand. Colliding violently, the breath was knocked out of you as he stabbed your chest with all his strength, the ceramic plate snapping loudly from the force.

 

Pulling your legs upwards, you simultaneously kicked into his chest and took a jab at his face with the butt of the rifle, sending yourself flying horizontally away. Your back hit the steel of a cargo box with a violent clatter and a pained shout, body curling up reflexively and sending you flopping off and crashing the last few feet to the ground. You did not hear such a clatter on Brock's end and could only surmise that he was on his feet and on his way.

 

Rallying yourself, you skittered across the earth, away from your landing spot and raised your rifle. Firing from the hip with a big gun wasn't recommended but it was only a paintball gun, you'd manage. "Here kitty," you called, throwing your voice once more, trying to lure him out.

 

To your surprise, he came and he was so damn fast you barely fired the gun in time, even with it already raised and pointed in his direction. The paintball erupted against his chest and staggered him slightly, halting his deadly advance for a precious second as you scuttled back. Right into a hard body.

 

Jack ripped the rifle from your hands and flung it down before grappling for your limbs. A garbled snarl broke free of you as you cracked your elbow against his kevlar vest, that limb being caught a moment after, followed by his two legs catching one of yours and pinching it in place tightly. Out of options, you plucked a paintball from your ammo pouch and smacked your palm directly into his forehead. The paintball broke with a snap and a sploot as he grabbed that wrist too.

 

"Got 'er," Jack's voice was rough and you heard him sniffing and snorting, trying to expel the sickly smell as he shook his head, liquid oozing down his face. "She hit me with that shit," he shook you roughly, eliciting an unseen wince from you.

 

"Fuck," Brock said, his voice deep and raspy, "you-you fucking sex pollened us?" His hand grabbed the back of your hair and tugged your head back with a painful twist, forcing you to partially face him, his face so close you could feel the heat of his breath.

 

"Yup," you croaked, voice distorted by the harsh position. "Hope you're comfortable with your sexuality, if you decide to follow through with stabbing me it's a pure sausage fest in here, tiger." Jack's grip tightened and you fancied you could feel his temperature rising rapidly. Both of them were breathing hard.

 

Brock put a finger to his ear as someone cried out raggedly. "Do what you have to," he hissed before his arm snapped down and he twisted your hair at the root again. "You're gonna wish you were dead once we're done fucking this out."

 

Stifling a pained sound, you squinted and shut your mouth, thinking hard. If you could delay them long enough they wouldn't be able to move, they would be at your mercy like originally intended. You heard Jack unzip his fly, Brock's following a second later. Well, worse things have happened to you, you figured.  "Let me suck you dry," you whispered as Jack's hands caught your hips in a painfully eager grip as his control started to slip.

 

"Uh, yeah," Jack grunted, hands shimmying up your body and grabbing your head as Brock's went the opposite direction. The two men manhandled you into position until your legs were spread, pants at your knees, and your lips were pressed firmly against Jack's throbbing erection.

 

When Brock lifted your hips and drove himself home in one thrust you gasped at the painful intrusion only to find Jack taking full advantage and filling your mouth instantly. Caught between the two you closed your eyes and grasped at Jack's thighs for balance, toes not touching the ground. The only thing you could do was ride out the wild fucking and get your own pleasure out of it as they spitroasted you violently.

 

Both of them were gasping as the toxin spread through their system rapidly with their increased heart rates, blinded by pleasure and pain as it soaked into their muscles and caused the terrible burning it was known for. "God," one of them practically sobbed, you weren't sure who. You were busy trying to steal a breath between each thrust that blocked your air supply.

 

With a harsh thrust of his hips that hurt your nose, Jack released into your mouth and you swallowed at it grudgingly before he slipped from your lips and fell to his knees, letting go of you entirely in his weakened state.

 

Panting, you flailed a bit until you caught his shoulders and steadied yourself as Brock kept up his brutal pace, muttering obscenities at you and promising violence with his crushing grip on your hips. "Cum in me," you cried desperately, trying to tip him over the edge, even clenching your kegels with all your might, "cum in me you f-fucking," you stuttered as he began to snap his hips rapidly, "hot," your brain short circuited, "grandpa!"

 

He couldn't very well stop, but his motions faltered at the weird and definitely offensive blurt until he bent over you and snarled, voice gravelly and deep with lust, "not," he bit your neck hard, "a," he tilted your hips for a better angle and redoubled his effort like he had something to prove, " _grandpa!_ " He snarled into your skin.

 

You couldn't help it, you practically squealed as what was possibly the most confusing orgasm ever ripped through you, followed closely by Brock having his own as he shook and gasped. Feeling like his soul had been sucked out, he dropped you without grace and fell to his knees too, panting harshly and shuddering against the pain that seized his muscles.

 

Disoriented from the afterglow that left your whole body buzzing, you recovered as fast as you could and staggered to your feet, looming over the two men and pulling up your pants as they made small, desperate sounds. Fighting off the urge to brag too soon, you draped over Jack and grasped his wrists, tugging them firmly behind him. "No," he mumbled through clenched teeth, but his resistance was paltry in his weakened state and you had no trouble fitting him with a zip tie.

 

"Pretty convenient that this stuff doesn't affect women, I'll tell ya," you mused breathlessly as you shambled away from Jack and bumped into Brock, who growled at you like a beast. "Easy grandpa," you teased, even though you felt some embarrassment at that awful blurt of yours. To your surprise he put up a bit of a fight, you had to throw your whole body into the motion and pin his hands in place with your weight while you quickly zip tied him.

 

Out of an abundance of caution, you put a second one on him too.

 

Dusting off, you listened to them moan helplessly. From what you read, you figured they were probably already good for another go. A few more and they would be right as rain, but they weren't going to be getting it any time soon. You grinned wickedly as you grabbed Jack's legs and dragged him through the warehouse.

 

All the other men were busy moaning and gasping. It was likely they weren't going to be a group after this, or they would be doing some deep reflecting on their sexuality. Either way, you giggled at the thought and smirked when Jack's head bumped against a door frame as you dragged him towards your nearby van. Getting his heavy ass up into the back wasn't that easy, especially not with him shifting around and trying to fight in vain, but you managed. Brock was a bit easier being that he was lighter but you felt both wary and impressed by this one, he almost got you, the broken plate was a testament to the killing blow.

 

As you were driving out and into the city, you smiled wickedly. They were moaning, legs zip tied at the ankle now too, barely able to move. "Gonna die," Brock gasped.

 

"Not yet," you said, "it will take a solid 6 hours for your heart to explode, I read. I made sure it was a proper dose of the stuff, don't you worry." One good safe house came to mind, out in the country. Yes, you'd go there, it had everything you needed for this. "The only thing you do need to worry about, sexy grandpa, is whether I feel like negotiating a truce or killing your sorry asses. The way things have been going? Could go either way," you mused.

 

By the time you pulled into the driveway of the private country home, the two of them were crying out in agony at every bump in the road. You smiled the entire time you dragged each of them, pants around their tied ankles, into the house and got them exactly where you wanted them.

 

This was not a safe house, not really. You entertained company here when you were in the neighborhood, the fun kind. Standing at the foot of the king sized canopy bed, you licked your lips and surveyed the two men spread out on it like a feast.  Tied expertly to steel loops and writhing haplessly at the endless burning pain, you didn't think they could really appreciate how they had a snowballs chance in hell of breaking the steel frame. Ah well, that could come later.

 

"Please," Jack cried. Actual tears were in his eyes. "B-be a good s-sheila," he pleaded brokenly, his words garbling into an incoherent mess. Brock for his part was staring a hole into you, a ravenous expression on his face as his muscles spasmed.

 

"Mm," you crooned. It had been a fairly long drive out here, 2 solid hours, that still left plenty of time to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, sorry about that smuthanger but this chapter was getting a bit long. Just means I'll have plenty of fun writing the next one. ;)


	6. Vice World 3 (ReaderxRumlow, xRollins *)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Criminal!AU  
> Villain!Reader, Villain!Strike Alpha  
> TAGS: RAPE, violence, stalking/hunting, sex pollen(male only), mild torture(pollen related)  
> Summary: Reader has her claws sunk into the tag team leaders of Strike Alpha and she takes full advantage.

You left them there, writhing, panting and cringing, to strip down in your bathroom and sneak a shower in. Your muscles were twinging and no close up inspection was needed to know that you were very, very bruised; from where your back hit the container, where Brock smashed the ceramic plate in half over your heart, to the miriad of hand prints and inner thigh marks. Just the thought of having those two muscular, handsome-you corrected your thoughts quickly-superior assholes, under your thumb made your nipples stiffen and gooseflesh to prickle along your arms.

 

Your brows perked up in surprise when you walked out of the bathroom, butt naked and damp from your shower, medical shears from the first aid box in hand, both Brock and Jack were quiet and still. "Not dead, are we?" You wondered out loud, approaching with heightened caution and eyeing their restraints warily.

 

Their chests were moving shallowly, and it became apparent they were trying to control the effect of the toxin with some secret agent relaxation tactic mojo. You smiled at that. "Well I'm glad, because as kinky as I am, I don't think I'll ever manage to get into the dead."

 

Brock was closest to you and his muscles jumped under your touch as you grabbed the side of his tac vest and took to it with your shears. "Haven't even gotten to see you topless yet," you lamented as you snipped away, watching Brock's eyes flutter open and level an intense stare at you. It might be scary, were it not for his outrageously straining pants and the restraints. "It's a crime."

 

And topless you rendered him, pulling the ruined vest and fabric away with a purposefully sharp tug that elicited a strained gasp from your target. You paused, caught in a moment of unguarded admiration. He had just enough dark hair to lead your eye to his treasure trail and an array of muscles that were coated in sweat, overheated and literally quivering. An appreciative throaty noise escaped you before you repeated the process with his pants, making him shout incoherently when the fabric brushed against his cock.

 

"Oh," you said, eyeing his erection, "that looks like it needs some help," you grinned slyly down at him. It was discolored, leaking and straining, showcasing the desperation that he could not hide. You'd get to it eventually.

 

Jack bit his lips hard, eyes long since opened and staring, as you sauntered around the bed and began the process of carving off his clothes too. You were a bit nicer about it with him. "Who's a good bruce?" You teased with an awful Australian accent, slowly fanning your hand out across his chest and listening to his relieved sigh.

 

Touch relieved the pain, you had read, and it seemed to be true enough. You looked across the bed, meeting Brock's desperate and enraged gaze. "Bet you'd like some relief, huh?" Planting your other hand on Jack's abs, enjoying the muscles shifting beneath the soft skin, you stroked him gently and coaxed more noises from him. "That's too bad, seeing as you stabbed me and were going to turn me into bloody confetti with assault rifles and all," you voice sharpened just slightly.

 

They were quiet except for their now labored breathing, their restraint only carrying them so far. That was alright, you were in a talking mood yourself. In one long, languid gesture you straddled Jack's thighs, tantalizingly out of reach from the part of his body that screamed for gratification, and enjoyed the helpless shifting of his legs and restrained bucking of his hips. "I got a whole lot of that sex pollen still," you mused out loud, "maybe I'll fuck it out of you then put it right back in until I get bored."

 

"How do you feel about being my sex toy?" You smiled impishly down at Jack, eyes bright as your hands trailed down his front and paused just above his cock, fingertips curling lightly into his well groomed hairs.

 

"Anything. Please," Jack's voice was raw and wrecked as you leaned back and toyed between your legs with your fingers, teasing. " _Please_."

 

Feeling a rush of power, you shimmied up his thick, muscular thighs until your skin was on his. His cock was shockingly hot, it almost felt scalding as you rocked upwards and stroked it between your lips and over your clit. Jack's whole body spasmed, bumping you together further as he made an incoherent noise, eyes wide and glassy.

 

"A little relief for you," you cooed as you grasped him at the base and lifted yourself upwards, manipulating him into position at your entrance, "because you beg so pretty." It was more to satiate the desperate throbbing between your own legs, in truth, but he was definitely going to benefit from it. The both of you groaned as you lowered yourself down, stretching around his shaft that was pulsing so hard you felt his heart beat through it.

 

Brock made a strangled noise at the sight, unable to pull his eyes away as sweat beaded down his face and body.

 

He was rocking upwards jerkily with his limited mobility and you tilted your head back, closing your eyes and enjoying the sensation of being gently rocked and stimulated before you felt the urge to move. "Mmm," you mumbled, eyes hooded with lust as you leaned forwards, braced your hands on his stomach and began to bounce steadily on his cock, "always nice to stick it to the man every now and again," you admitted with a toothy grin.

 

Jack's chest was heaving and he was nodding as if he was agreeing, eyes wide, mouth hanging open and choked noises escaping him. The relief and pleasure were paralyzing.

 

"Though I did like it, being under you," you panted as your sore muscles flexed, face screwed up in concentration as you focused on chasing your pleasure, dragging and rocking his twitching cock inside of you like an erotic massage with an alternating pace that oscillated from fast to slow on command.

 

Cum was leaking out of him in pulses and you felt his heavy balls flexing and throbbing each time your skin clapped down against them. You pulled one hand off of his stomach and rapidly circled your clit, staring at his pained and blissed out face. "Cum for me," you commanded roughly, tensing your muscles and leaning forwards until your tits were rubbing against his chest and you were riding him like a professional racehorse.

 

He seemed to come alive as his orgasm hit, his arms and legs jerking and the metal rings he was bound to clinking loudly as he let out a ragged roar. With a strained cry you rode his bucking hips and arched your back as you hit your own peak, the sound, feel and even the smell of sex sending you flying over the edge as your fingers seized up.

 

"Oh fuck," Jack panted heavily, staring up at you as the toxin was temporarily staved off, hit with a sudden wave of lucidity. His lip curled up, straight white teeth bared.

 

"Exactly one fuck," you snarked, panting and licking your lips as you looked down your nose at him, watching as he began to seethe. With a little effort you slipped off of him and gave his nipple a playful bite that he flinched away from. "How are you doing over there, Commander?" You grinned and gave Brock a calculating stare as you straightened up.

 

The muscles of his jaw and neck were like taught cables and you thought if you listened closely, you could hear his teeth being ground to dust as he exerted what was apparently formidable willpower and glared at you. You slapped Jack's thigh hard, the clap loud and harsh in the otherwise quiet room, the recipient stifling a shout in response.

 

"Well, sounds like you're fine then," you smiled and sauntered out of the room with cum sliding down your inner thighs, your hedonist soul quivering in delight. You needed a quick breather before more play anyways, damn the sore muscles.

 

You returned with a pitcher of water and a tall glass, noting how their eyes latched on to the chilled glass with not very well concealed desperation. Hydration was also an issue with this sex pollen stuff, you read. Making a show out of pouring yourself a glass, you took a sip and smacked your lips, "ahhh. Oh, you want some?" You quirked a brow and smiled brightly at them.

 

"Well we both know Crossbones here is doing fine," you walked around the bed and offered Jack a drink, holding up his head with a hand and watching him gulp it down with a huff of relief. Once he was done you switched sides and filled up the glass, placing it down on the bedside table beside Brock. He wasn't looking too good, you observed.

 

He had a nice tanned complexion earlier, but it had taken on a wan look and strain was written clearly across his entire body. Curious, you settled a hand on his chest and felt his pulse pounding hard as his muscle jumped in response, thrumming like a hummingbird. Withdrawing your hand you hummed thoughtfully. His life was really in your hands.

 

His eyes, like dark honey, you thought, snapped to the glass as you brought it to his lips and curled a hand behind his head. If you enjoyed carding your fingertips through his short, thick hair while he drank greedily, well, it wasn't like he could stop you. You smirked. "You know, I got a problem," you said.

 

"Sheila, you got a whole lotta problems," Jack huffed, already aroused and ready to go again, though he did seem to have more composure now.

 

"Sure," you said, putting down the empty drink and crawling over Brock until you were settled on your stomach between his legs. "My _current_ problem," you looked Brock in the eye, right past his straining erection, "is that I'd prefer not to kill you," Rumlow gave an incredulous snort, "but I really have no guarantee that you aren't going to keep on hunting me."

 

Taking your time, you ran your hands down his sweat-slicked thighs and curled them underneath, content to thoroughly explore this delicious slab of masculinity currently at your mercy. Now, you wouldn't call Jack boyish in comparison, not by a long shot, but where he had some softness, some give, Brock was hard and angular all over. Your fingers ached to explore and, since it would lessen the effect of the toxin in him, you happily indulged.

 

As you snaked your hands up the backs of his thighs and cupped his hard ass cheeks, your eyebrows perked in surprise. You shot him in the ass, what, a few weeks ago? You gave a few exploratory pokes where you thought you remembered hitting him. There was no wound or even the roughened flesh of a scar. Very curious.

 

Brock made a throaty noise when you leaned forwards and dragged your fingers up his back, his cock pressing against the space between your breasts. It made quite a sight, you knew, that look drove men wild. You may have batted your eyelashes a little for extra effect as you looked up at him.

 

The muscles of his back were like snakes, shifting and writhing under your hands as you catalogued him. One thing you noticed was a distinct lack of scars anywhere, he looked like a goddamn gruff supermodel. Grizzled veterans had scars. Period. "Hm," you said, ignoring the drag of his molten hot cock as it left a slick, glistening trail across your body until your face was hovering over his.

 

He was visibly less ill, and he was smoldering at you. Probably in cataclysmic anger, but you decided it looked sinful either way. "Feeling a little better, my sexy panther?" Your face split into a cheshire grin as you closed your thighs around his stiff cock and slowly undulated, stroking him and trying to elicit a reaction.

 

Nostrils flaring, the muscles of his jaw flexed repeatedly as you laid your softer body on his hard one and played your fingertips across his pronounced collar bone, over his quivering shoulder muscles and squeezed teasingly at his rock solid biceps. Just the feeling of him under you and his strong male smell warmed up your insides, and you felt the need to get him inside you start to overtake your desire to play.

 

His voice was so low, so soft, you almost missed it even though your noses were practically touching, "you're gonna die," he said.

 

"We all die eventually," you smoldered right back at him, picking out all the little flecks of color in his dark eyes as you squeezed his cock between your thighs and made his eyes cross. "Some sooner than others, if they keep talking shit."

 

You were getting sweaty just being in contact with his overheated body, smirking when he blasted you with a sharp huff of breath. Pulling back, you rose over him and reached down between your bodies, grasping his angry, flushed cock and guiding it to your entrance. Your nipples tingled at the thought of this severe man being eskimo brothers with his friend through you.

 

A chuckle escaped you as you sank down on him and he couldn't suppress a hapless moan, his hips jerking on pure instinct. Damn you were a perv sometimes. You wondered if you were offending their possibly delicate sensibilities, damaging fragile egos, but you didn't think that was the case.

 

Brotherhood and comradery were observedly weird-yet-powerful forces.

 

"Mmm," you crowed, grabbing him by the hips and digging your thumbs into his prominent iliac furrow. You loved that particular feature on men.  With pleasure you began to rock and bounce steadily, biting your bottom lip as the sounds and sensations washed over you, electrifying your body, head to each curling toe.

 

Jack muttered a curse as he watched, tugging at his restraints and squirming in discomfort.

 

Cursing the bruised state of your body you closed your eyes, grit your teeth and stroked your clit with your fingers while you used him like a glorified sex doll. "Sure wish you hadn't bruised me up or this would be a lot," you huffed, "more fun."

 

Jack's fingers were exploring the rope that bound his wrists as he talked, "what do we need to do to convince you that we'll leave you alone?"

 

You let out an airy laugh that cut off in a gasp as Rumlow jerked his hips up during one of your downwards thrusts, making a strangled noise as he came inside you, cock twitching and throbbing as cum oozed out of you and smeared into his skin. A little annoyed that he came first, you attacked your clit with your clever fingers and forced a quick burst of an orgasm out of yourself before he could soften. "I want collateral," you panted, licking your lips as your head lazed to the side.

 

Brock's eyes were closed as he regulated his breathing, his heart rate much closer to normal. "You aren't getting anything other than a bullet between your eyes," he rasped, "team will be here any time and you don't got the balls to kill us."

 

"For someone who is so highly decorated and seems to have everyone's panties in a knot," you leered down at him, digging crescents into his skin with your fingernails, "you aren't very smart. Your team has no idea where you are, for starters, and I am in complete control here." A disdainful snuff escaped you, "don't buy half the shit that guy said about you, either."

 

"You should," Jack said, eyeing you with a startling degree of sobriety. Brock, too, looked a lot more lucid than you thought he would at this stage of things. A tendril of unease ran through you.

 

Rolling your eyes, you climbed off Brock and to your feet, heading to the bathroom to clean up a degree. It was too bad, you really didn't want to kill them, wished this entire situation was different even. You were big enough to admit that it was your own fault, but you were also ruthless enough to hold your life above theirs, any time, any day, despite what Crossbones thought.

 

Tossing on your dirty shirt and panties, you surveyed your prisoners as you walked back out of the bathroom, thinking. There were weapons in this house, here and there, and a panic room in the basement rec room behind a bookshelf. Quietly, you left the bedroom and made for the supply closet in the hallway where you kept a pistol and a few clips of ammo, your thoughts shifting to the logistics of body disposal.

 

The clip slid into place with that familiar metallic sliding sound and you thumbed off the safety as you stepped out of the supply closet, calm and collected. Your feet froze on the cool wood floor when you heard the distinct shriek of metal tearing, followed by a clatter. Your brain told you to attack while you still had a chance, before they could be fully unleashed, but your mind recalled the blinding speed of Rumlow and his terrific capacity for violence.

 

You ran, pantless, prideless and charged with the weaker half of fight or flight, right to the front door. A heavy set of bare feet thundered down the upstairs hallway as you flung the door open and you grunted as you were shoved forwards by an impact just above your shoulder blade. Not registering anything other than that, you practically teleported to the van. Damn good thing you left all your crap inside it.

 

It didn't occur to you that a knife was sticking out of your back until the house was in your rear view mirror and you tried to lean back into your seat, an obstruction and jolt of pain shocking you to greater awareness. You tugged it out with a curse and slammed your hand against the steering wheel. On the run again and you _liked_ that house, dammit.

 

God, you were so stupid you didn't even pull all the weapons out of the gear you cut off their bodies, that's where that knife came from. You were starting to wonder how you'd lived this long in the first place, second guessing your skills left and right until you got annoyed enough to turn on the radio to try and drown out your thoughts, chastised into silence.

 

What a day. What. A. Day. A quiet shiver ran through you at the thought of the legendary levels of rage that had to be pumping out of those two men right now, never mind the rest of their team. Maybe it was time to go north. Yeah, north sounded good.  Canadians were nice.  Canadian infrastructure, especially in the smaller cities and towns, would insulate you from being pinpointed so easily, no cameras on every corner. You pulled over at one point and put on the civilian clothes you had laying on the back seat, your plan solidifying. Too bad you really hated the cold.

 

Upon further reflection, you desperately wanted to see what went on in that bedroom. You knew you heard metal ripping, not ropes snapping. That wasn't even possible, Crossbones had done several impossible things now, you thought darkly. Was Jack the same? You didn't comb over him like you did the broody former Commander, but he did have that scar on his chin so he wasn't suspiciously perfect either.

 

That bed frame was made of the same stuff rebar was, you knew because you put it together and welded it your damn self. The loops were a high grade stainless steel, mostly because you were being extravagant with cash instead of a worry that anyone you tied down had a chance to break it. It was time to sit down, pick out a nice northern city to visit and buy some sturdier, thicker clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always liked the idea that Rumlow/Jack were mildly enhanced, so I'm keeping that. Haven't really decided how close this story is to the Marvel universe though, not sure if it will go far enough to matter either but I'll mull it over whether Captain America and co. are out there or not.


	7. Vice World 4 (Reader/Rumlow/Rollins)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Criminal!AU  
> Villain!Reader, Villain!Strike Alpha  
> TAGS: Violence, surgical torture, graphic depictions of injury, stalking/hunting, threat of sexual assault  
> Summary: Reader fancies she is under the radar up in Canada. Spoiler: she isn't.

When reflecting on it, you would have preferred to have gone to the intensely humid jungles of Borneo to live as a simple hermit in exile and wallow in malaria. You were not designed to live this far from the equator, as evidenced by your wardrobe consisting entirely of thick hoodies and various kinds of heavy sweatpants. All the Canadians were wearing summer clothes and you stuck out hard.

 

You were sitting in the window seat of a mom and pop shop, soaking up the sun's rays through the window like a lazy feline while enjoying poutine. Who knew adding cheese curds to fries with gravy turned it into something magical? Your thoughts nervously bounced from that topic back to your most pressing one in an instant: Strike Alpha was out there and had a score to settle with you.

 

Rumlow and them had to be in the same boat as you, you thought. Loaded with enough cash to never have to worry about it but too big of an adrenaline junkie to actually get off the ride. At least you didn't have any problem with taking breaks and fun vacations. _You_ wouldn't waste all your time chasing an asshole who burned you and you couldn't catch.

 

Of course, you were basically forced out of the business right now. No one would touch you with a 10 foot pole and word would travel to the Strike gang in an instant if you tried to reach out to anyone. You were quietly seething when a throat cleared beside you.

 

Blinking and in mid chew, you looked up at a younger woman who had a confused expression and a phone in hand, half extended towards you. "Uh, hi. This is going to sound weird but- the phone is for you?" She chirped.

 

Swallowing the lump of fries down your suddenly dry throat, you reached out a hand and feigned curiosity with a quirked brow. Canadians were so funny about stuff like this, she didn't even hesitate to hand her own phone to you. Slowly, you raised it to your ear.

 

" _Winnipeg_?" Brock's voice mocked, "why don't you try the north pole, honey? How 'bout the moon? You are _fucked_ when I get my hands on-" you gulped and pulled the phone away from your ear, bringing the one-sided, heavily bronx accented rant to an end with a swipe of your thumb and holding it back up to its owner.

 

"Thanks," you said glumly.

 

"Are you okay?" She pocketed the phone and gave you a look of reluctant curiosity.

 

You smirked at that. "Yeah. Crazy ex, nothing to worry about. Thanks again." She left with your curt dismissal, happy to have been given an out and not get further involved. You resolved to finish your meal, even though it no longer had a taste and was about as easy to swallow as sharp rocks.

 

Cautious to stay in crowds, though that was easier said than done with the much less population dense city, you managed to get back to the second floor apartment you were renting in one piece and alone. So your attempt to drop off the radar had failed and a strong sense of impending doom was draping across your shoulders like a purring cat. Hissing, you blobbed some polysporin over your crudely stapled knife wound.

 

There wasn't even anyone available to give it a proper cleaning and stitching. Being that you wanted to stay under the radar, you hadn't gone and menaced a veterinarian or temporarily kidnapped a nurse and your home remedy involved a staple gun, some agonized shouts and a lot of extra bleeding.

 

Stiffly shrugging your hoodie back on, you splashed your face with water and tried to clear the haze of panic from your mind. This place wasn't secure in any sense and it would be truly stupid to think they wouldn't take you out just because you had neighbors in all directions. You had to get moving again but God you were tired, the healing wound was slowing you down significantly, your limbs felt sluggish.

 

A nap was in order, then you'd pack your sparse belongings and go. You shoved a chair under the doorknob of both the apartment door and your bedroom door, checked that your bedroom window was not too hard to open on a dime, then slipped on your pajamas, crawled into the lumpy bed and closed your eyes.

 

The room was dark when the apartment door jostled, your eyes snapping open. Disoriented, you tapped your phone and suppressed a groan, 3:15am. One hell of a nap and apparently you now had company. You jumped to your feet when the bedroom door unlocked with a quiet click, how did he get past the first chair without busting the door?

 

As soon as you threw the window open, the door crumpled inwards with a tremendous crunch and the chair went flying, splintered wood spraying into the room. A large, shadowed figure darted towards you as you were hurling yourself out of the window and the fingertips of a gloved hand brushed the bottom of your foot as you let out an enthusiastic, "Aahh!"

 

Having kicked off the window frame, you landed into a roll across the dewy grass and had the unique displeasure of feeling and hearing every last one of your staples rip apart and blood splash down your back as you stumbled up and into a run. You officially had no phone, no keys, no laptop, nothing but silky, navy blue two piece pajamas and a prayer.

 

It didn't escape your notice that you never got shot at either and knowing that they weren't going for the kill was not in any way a comfort.

 

There was a public parking lot a block or two over, you raced for it with the hopes of your trajectory not being that easy to figure out. You hadn't spotted anyone chasing you yet but there was no way they weren't out there, hunting. As you ran across a field, the parking lot on the other side, you heard a sharp bird call.

 

Birds at 3am? Fuck off, all the chickadees slept like little fluffy rocks until 5am sharp, even you knew that. A glance over your shoulder sent another handy spike of adrenaline into your limbs. Rollins, with his slicked back hair and tactical outfit, was running your way. That big bastard was fast too, long legs eating up the distance. Really goddamn fast.

 

If you ran any faster, your feet were going to grow wings. You made it into the parking lot, bare feet rapidly pattering, already scanning over the scattering of vehicles, looking for something a little older. Not that you had any _time_ to do what you needed to do. Heavy booted footfalls hit the concrete maybe 4 seconds after you did.

 

There. Older car. Some kind of Subaru. Your nostrils were flared, breath coming in rapid heaves, hair sticking to your sweat slicked face as you charged for it and flexed your fist, flecks of blood flying off of it. Breaking car windows was neither easy nor pain free, this was going to hurt.

 

Don't hit the middle, hit the sides, you reminded yourself as a snarl burst from your open mouth and you threw your fist with all your weight and momentum, spotting the running figure of Jack approaching in the passenger window with startling clarity. You even noticed the grim, twisted grin on his face. Your fist passed through the window like it was hollywood sugar glass and you felt nothing, there was so much adrenaline in your system. Popping up the lock, you swung the door open and slammed it shut just as Jack collided with the small car, rocking it.

 

With your left hand in a fist, you mashed the lock down and glared up at Jack when he looked at you incredulously and then pointedly to the hole you punched that gave him easy access to said lock, like you were an idiot. He even gestured to it. Your right hand gripped the plastic covering under the steering wheel and ripped it off, all while you had this odd staring match.

 

He leaned forwards, resting his left hand and elbow on the roof while he did something out of sight with his right. Your body began to shake from the shock as he pulled up a glistening gloved finger, looked at it for a second with a calculating expression, then smeared a bloody heart on the glass with it while staring you right in the eye.

 

Other people were approaching, jogging over from behind Rollins and other directions. Your escape was covered, not that you could run another foot if you wanted to. Tossing your head back, you tried to just gulp in some air, your brain fizzling out. End of the line.

 

He reached in and popped the lock.

 

You tossed the chunk of plastic in your lap to the passenger seat as cold air flooded in, followed by a hand grasping you under the arm and roughly yanking you out to your feet. A grunt of pain escaped you when your injured shoulder bumped into the door and Jack paused, looking at the fresh bloodstain left behind on the white car. Stepping back and pulling you along, he hooked a finger in the collar of your pajamas and peeled it back.

 

"Ah, he did get you," he mused, looking with a squint at the staples and the gory, oozing mess they were partially attached to. "Looks infected."

 

Your head was tilted back, observing the men who'd come to surround you with narrowed eyes, hearing the thrum an approaching vehicle. "Well if you'll be so kind as to give it a quick cleaning and a stitch, I'll gladly be on my way," you snarked.

 

Each man glared in their own unique way, shadowed faces as expressive as statues, it was all in the eyes though. "Oh no, sheila," Jack's hand squeezed you tight as he grabbed a staple and tugged it out, eliciting a sharp, stifled bark of a noise from you, "you aren't going anywhere."

 

No one, least of all you, was surprised when a hood was jammed over your head and you were tossed in a heap to the floor of a van.

 

Jack, at least you were pretty sure it was Jack, had his feet kicked up on your hips as you laid there on your side, shivering and twitching. "Learned a whole lot about you these past few weeks," he finally said after a quiet exchange with someone up front.

 

"It's all true," you said. Here's hoping it was all about your more badass, intimidating exploits.

 

Someone chuckled. "You broke some kid's wrist in Manhattan," he said, wiggling his boot and digging his heel into your hip, "pissed off some mob boss he was connected to? Turns out it's really easy to find you when _everyone_ wants your pretty head."

 

You mumbled an expletive.

 

"I'd say you're lucky it's us that found you first but," a man with a vaguely familiar voice was speaking, Slenderman? Slinky? No, Slendy, that was it. "You're definitely not." A spidery hand clamped around your shoulder, thumb digging into your wound and tugging at it.

 

That was too much. A ragged cry escaped you and you writhed, trying to cringe away from the grip, hands bound behind your back and legs pinned down by someone else's heavier ones. You even tried to bite the hand through your hood in desperation before Jack piped up, "knock it off," in an indifferent tone.

 

Rollins was right, it was infected, you thought as you lay there sweating, acutely aware of a fever on the rise as you shivered hard. It remained to be seen whether or not you were getting sick prior to running for your life and spilling enough blood to make you lightheaded. You started chuckling when your head began to feel like it was full of cotton and soreness radiated through your whole body.

 

"What?" Rollins said sharply, nudging you with his boot.

 

"Not sure what you have planned but," you licked your dry lips and took a few seconds to breathe, feeling absurdly tired, as though your life was just draining away by the second, "isn't gonna matter real soon."

 

The low murmur of conversation paused, the silence getting heavy before Jack's boots slid off of you. There was a shifting of fabric, you tried to focus on sounds and analyze them but it was getting difficult, before a hand fisted in your collar and a knife smoothly sliced it open. You full body cringed as the silk was pulled off your wound, taking messy, chunky scabbing with it.

 

"Ah fuck," Jack muttered, catching the strong stench in the enclosed space, fishing around his pockets for a second before clicking on a flashlight and shining it over the oozing, stapled mess. Two large fingers landed on either side of it and pressed hard. " _Very_ infected." He glared as pus erupted, having been trapped deep inside.

 

You gagged from the pain and tried to twist away to no avail, sagging in relief when his hand withdrew. A wrist was put up against your forehead for about half a second, he barely needed to make contact to know you were burning up. A giggle escaped you, you were going to be too delirious for whatever they had planned to hurt you with to matter. Thanks, Brock. "De-nied," you chirped.

 

"Think we're gonna let you die, you harpy?" _Before we get our pound of flesh_ being heavily implied. That was the last thing you heard before your eyes closed and you couldn't open them again.

 

Consciousness, or what you thought was such, came in dreamlike sequences. The hood being ripped off your head and the enraged face of Brock. A blink and then you were being carried somewhere. Another and you were under a pile of scratchy blankets, skin so hot you wanted to cry.

 

A moment of pure clarity came when pain ripped you out of your fever dream world and you woke up gagging, a huge hand grasping you by the back of the head and yanking it to the side as you blew chunks into a strategically placed bucket and gasped. Your entire shoulder, arm and back were burning in agony and all you could do was make an incoherent, raspy scream in response.

 

Someone was _in_ your wound, scraping with a tool and muttering, indifferent to your distress and just keeping your head over the bucket, palming your skull like a basketball. This guy was probably named Tiny or Teddy, you thought woozily, gigantic bigfoot specimens always had nicknames like that. You were seated on a stool, kept in place by tree trunk thighs at your sides and a shiny metal table at your front.

 

There was old vomit in the bucket, the acrid scent burned your nose, how many times had you already come to during this torture session? Your eyes shut once again.

 

It was a slow process the next time you woke, like crawling up out of quicksand. Your fingers curled into a scratchy fabric, the sting of antiseptic seeping into your nose until it was all you smelled, your eyes were crusty and scratchy as they twitched behind their lids, your body was nice and warm. Above all of that though, your head was surprisingly clear and you realized you were no longer feverish.

 

You were also laying on your uninjured side. Your stomach growled fiercely and your brain began to try and make sense of the gaps in time that lead you to this position. More importantly: how long had you been here and what now? There was nothing to do but open your eyes and start figuring it out.

 

Wincing from the discomfort of opening your dry eyes, you dragged your squinty, watering gaze around and catalogued everything. Concrete walls and floors, no windows, it looked suspiciously like a cell that had been repurposed, reminding you of a hospital room with things like bedpans, folded towels and what looked like packaged gauze and medical tape. The bed you were laying on was definitely more of a cot than anything.

 

Pulling away your blankets left you with the realization that you were alarmingly weak plus your right arm wasn't moving so good on top of that, and there was the familiar tugging of stitches on your back. But there were a _lot_ of stitches, covering far more space than the original knife wound would have needed. You were also naked head to toe and shivered, denying your desire to crawl right back under the rough, warm blanket.

 

Swaying on your feet for a few seconds before steadying yourself, you eyed the door. Looked pretty heavy, metal door and frame, no lock on the inside, you could guess where the lock actually was. Well, no matter what, you thought, it was a good assumption that you were in enemy territory right now. There was also an IV attached to you, connected to a hanging bag that was presumably giving you fluids, which you pulled out with a shaky hand and let fall away.

 

With a grunt, you yanked the blanket off the bed and tossed it aside, stripping the clean sheet off and folding it up until it resembled a long line, then you started twisting it up until it was a tight tube, tying off the ends so it wouldn't unravel. Impromptu rope in each hand, you shuffled towards the door with intent.

 

As if on cue, the sound of a lock snapping alerted you right before the door swung open and revealed one Brock Rumlow, who didn't look one bit surprised to see you where you were. He gave you a slow elevator look, gaze lingering on the twisted sheet in your hands, before meeting your eye. "Fever broke, huh?"

 

"Yeah," your voice came out a wheeze, punctuated by a crack, "do me a favor," one of his dark brows leaped upwards while the other pinched down, "and lean over so I can strangle the life out of you. Thanks."

 

After a pause and, much to your confusion, a glint lighting in his eye, he said, "of course!" And tilted his head forwards, bending his back until his hair was brushing the skin between your breasts and he held still.

 

He was mocking you. You weren't normally prone to fits of pique but there you were, bristling, gripping the sheet tight and pulling it up under his head where his neck met his jaw. It wasn't a good angle to begin with, better to do it from behind and be able to put your weight and legs into it, but as you pulled upwards with faintly tremoring arms you were keenly aware that you had toddler levels of strength.

 

You pressed your chest into the top of his head and clenched your teeth as you gave it your best shot out of sheer stubbornness, until your cheeks colored red and you couldn't justify embarrassing yourself any further. You might as well have been putting a scarf on him. And that smug asshole, he just patiently stood there, breathing unobstructed, waiting for you to finish humiliating yourself.

 

Abruptly, you dropped the sheet and took one step back. "I'm done," you said tightly.

 

Not one to feel vulnerable, even naked, you felt it then as he straightened up and took a step towards you, so much so that you took an involuntary step backwards before you caught yourself. He was wearing a t-shirt and cargo pants, nothing fancy, but you knew exactly what was under it and it was a challenge to not cringe away from both the power and the threat. It did not help that he had adopted that intense stare he leveled at you when you had the advantage during the previous encounter.

 

"How much do you remember?" He said, pressing in until you were chest to chest, well, face to chest, trying to herd you backwards and make you feel small. You _did_ feel small, but you weren't going to give him any further satisfaction in that regard, you planted your feet for better balance.

 

That was actually a good question. Blinking slowly, you thought about it while you tried to hold his stare, gritting your teeth when your eyes tugged away in submission, settling for other parts of his face. "Not much," you muttered, "getting caught. Waking up once."

 

All signs pointed to you being here for quite a while, none more telling than the lack of bruising on your right hand. You remembered punching in that window, your fist should be black, blue and painfully swollen. It was flawless and it normally took at least two weeks for bruising to fade. He smirked before grabbing you in a fast snap of a gesture.

 

Suddenly spun around, he marched you and your jelly legs to the bed and bent you over it, twisting your arm behind your back and pinning it there, you full body cringed as your stitches pulled uncomfortably tight. An inarticulate noise escaped you when he palmed the stitches, big hand fanning over them. "That's a shame," he husked, voice dropping an octave, "I made sure to be there every time you woke up. For a tough girl, you sure screamed a lot."

 

Turning your head to the side, cheek pressed into the cot, you stifled a sigh. "Yeah, I don't think you're gonna beat that, might as well just let me go on my way," you closed your eyes and smirked, all your energy gone up in smoke. You wanted to go right back to sleeping.

 

He traced a calloused finger along the stitching until you got a good idea of the shape and size, like a child's attempt at drawing a stick figure star, the lines were jagged and spanned from near your spine all the way to just above your armpit. "We have had plenty of time to figure out exactly what's going to happen to you," he said, voice full of dark promise, fingertips wandering off the tracks and trailing into the dip of your spine, making you shiver.

 

The truth was you were too tired to snipe at him, even too tired to acknowledge the change in the atmosphere, he'd let go of your wrist and placed his hands on either side of your head, draping his body over yours and firmly pressing you down. Too tired to fuck, what a tragic story, you thought.

 

"I'm going to fuck you in half," he said it in such a matter-of-fact way, you believed it. Maybe he'd enthusiastically screw you right to death. You could accept that, like those men who always say they want to die during the act, a shiver of anticipation ran through you at the thought.

 

It came as a surprise when he pulled back, shifting around until he caught your legs at the knee, twisting you until you rolled into the arm he positioned at your back. Your face was screwed up in half awake confusion as he gently laid you on the cot, looking down at you with a smirk when he leaned back up. "Soon," he said, lewdly pawing and adjusting his tight pants before turning and leaving you.

 

Before he was gone he paused for a moment, then turned back, tossing the blanket you had dumped on the floor over you haphazardously and then leaving fully, the door locking with a sharp click. You laid there, frowning to yourself, before your eyes grew too heavy to resist closing.

 

Agony spread through your shoulder and back, stabbing sharply with each scrape and wet slice. You were pinned in place with that hand on your head and screaming yourself hoarse between dry heaves when a sharp _click_ jarred you awake with a ragged gasp.

 

Flipping on to your side and letting out a hiss of pain, you blinked a few times to confirm what you were seeing. A woman was entering, one of the Strike grunts behind her and definitely checking out her ass before closing the door. Your eyes swung back to her. Rumpled and stressed looking, but otherwise whole, she was also looking at you and pulling on latex gloves.

 

"I heard your fever broke," she said with what you thought was a note of relief as she approached, "they have had me looking after you for a while now."

 

Ah, the old kidnap the nurse/doctor trick. You huffed softly and pulled yourself into a seated position. "Yeah," you rasped, "I'd thank you, but I was probably better off dead."

 

That caught her off guard and she cringed. "I'm sorry. They, ah, threatened to kill me if you didn't make it through this so, I'm afraid I'm a bit happy that you did. Can you stand up please? I need to check your stitches." She turned and grabbed a fresh pack of medical gauze and a half-used container of dark brown liquid labelled Dettol.

 

You complied, rising to your feet and pleased to feel a little closer to your original state already. Getting your strength up pronto was imperative, although you wondered about the food situation, as your stomach was gurgling angrily. Turning away from her, you hummed thoughtfully. "You've seen their faces?"

 

There was a pause between the ripping of the package, "yes," she said, suddenly wary.

 

"They aren't gonna let you live," you said in a flat tone, quirking a brow at the silence behind you. "Normally if you kidnap physicians or whatever you are, someone you need to do a job quick, you don't let them see your face."

 

"I see," she croaked, right before firmly swiping the cotton pad across your stitches, a hot burning trail that made you stutter and gasp chased after it.

 

"I know there's a camera in here, do you know if they have audio too?" You quirked a brow, glancing up at the camera in the corner as she continued to thoroughly swipe the sealed wound.

 

"No idea," she said glumly, "this is healing nicely. It is amazing you bounced back at all, the infection was extensive and," she paused, you could hear her throat click as she swallowed, "it was quite the surgery to remove it."

 

"I remember," you grumbled stiffly. Good old surgery without anesthesia, that memory was not going to be leaving you any time soon, if the dream was any indication.

 

"You-oh, I am so sorry," she whispered, placing a gloved hand gently on your uninjured shoulder. "You have been conscious off and on but delirious up until now. I didn't think you would remember, that's horrific."

 

"They wouldn't have given me anything even if they knew I was fully there for it," you half shrugged, glancing over your shoulder at her, calculating. "What is the layout of the building like? Where do they keep you?"

 

She sucked in a breath, pulling her hands away and holding the antiseptic to her chest defensively. "I'm sorry, but I am not allowed to talk to you about it."

 

Ugh, you thought, a worthless mouse of a victim. "Enjoy your final days," you turned to face her, watching her face twist as she fought tears. This wasn't some sisterhood, you weren't here to feel pity for her, she might have been useful if she had a spine.

 

Her voice was thick, "I'll-I'll get them to bring in some food, you must be hungry. And some water for the sponge." She turned away quickly, putting the bottle back and tossing the dirtied gauze, banging on the door a little frantically.

 

The door opened and a gruff voice said, "what? Done already?"

 

She took a half step back, before nodding. "The patient needs food and water for bathing, please."

 

An inarticulate grunt in response and she was guided out of the room, the door shutting and locking. You walked to the small metal table, picking up a pack of gauze and roll of medical tape.

 

A few minutes later a man came in with a large bucket of water in one hand and a tray of food balanced on the other, his expression grim. "Covering the camera, huh?" The bucket hit the floor with a slosh and he just about tossed the tray on the bed before he strode to the camera and ripped the gauze and tape off, turning to glare at you. "Please try something. Please."

 

Having gotten to your feet when he entered, you grinned wolfishly at him. Time to test a theory. "I'm sorry, who are you? I don't normally keep track of nobodies. You the bitch boy?" You said, gesturing to the food and bucket. It was partially true, you hadn't seen this guy yet.

 

Rage flashed across his features, his shoulders and chest puffed, fists clenched. He took one long, fast stride towards you before he seemed to remember himself and stopped. His enraged features shuttered in increments, a facade of calm indifference passing over him until he turned on his heel and walked out.

 

You smiled. Theory confirmed, you were not to be touched until otherwise noted. That worked just fine for you. You sat down beside the tray and tucked into the food, which was surprisingly good, suggesting getting you at least a degree of healthy was a priority.

 

When you were done eating you investigated the bathing situation, carefully resting your weight to the front of your right foot, the plastic tip of the needle you shoved into the thick callous at the bottom of your heel clicked suspiciously if you didn't. It was crude, but it did make you feel a bit better to swipe off the old fever sweat, scrubbing with a bar of soap that had been sitting in the bucket, though you couldn't properly get your back with the stitches limiting your mobility.

 

Honestly, you wanted to escape right the hell now but that big steel door wasn't going anywhere and you couldn't pick a lock that wasn't on your side. It was a problem. After doing your business in the annoying tiny toilet in the corner you curled up on the bed and thought.

 

At some point, when your eyes were beginning to sag from a combination of boredom and tiredness, you heard the door lock click but there was no follow through, the door remained closed. Wary tension filled you. It could be a trick. It could be that nurse just did you a big favor.

 

As they say, you miss all the shots you don't take, so you rolled out of the bed and paced to the door briskly, hand curling around the knob and twisting slow enough you could barely hear it. Easing the door open, you fell back for a second to pull the discarded bed sheet rope into some loose loops and toss it over your shoulder.

 

The one chance you had to look further out the door had not been taken, when you were doing your level best to crush Brock's throat, so you were surprised when the haze of smoke and sweet scent of cigars hit you. Your room was at the end of a short hallway that had a T shape, one room on the opposite end and an open archway into what had to be a bigger room in the middle, thick reddish brown shag carpet and ancient wood paneling on the walls.

 

Grateful for the warmer temperature and soft texture on your chilled feet, you approached the archway cautiously and listened. Low male voices engaged in casual conversation, the clinking of drinks and the shuffling of cards. There were at least 3 men playing cards, maybe 10 feet away from the archway, you thought.

 

That would make escape particularly difficult.

 

Cautious to remain out of their line of sight, you shifted until you got as much of a view as you were going to get without exposing yourself. Directly to the left was a kitchenette with a small island, and just past that was the door to freedom. There were small windows on the opposite side, showing that this was a basement, so behind that door was a set of stairs leading up, probably with the exit that lead to freedom somewhere along the way.

 

A cough brought you back to the present, your brows pinching together in concentration as you inched around the corner to check on their positions. 3 guys lounging around a small table, shoulders slumped in relaxation and feet kicked out, were smoking and drinking leisurely. Only one of them was facing your direction, but it was one too many.

 

You withdrew and ran a hand over your face, then glanced at the flimsy wooden door to your left.

 

"Hold on, gotta piss," one guy said, placing his cards face down and striding towards the bathroom. As soon as he entered he called out, "who left the sink on? Wasteful idiots."

 

You took a quick glance around the corner. Luck was with you, the one who left was the one who was facing the door. With as much stealth and moxie as you could muster while in your birthday suit, you boldly walked towards the door and opened it. Someone had to have greased the hinges, because it opened in utter silence and revealed the stairs that you suspected were there.

 

It was nice when things went your way for a change. Closing the door behind you, you stalked up the stairs and looked over the array of boots by the door. There were a lot of boots and not a pair that would fit you by a long shot. To your delight, sets of keys were hanging off a small key rack beside the door.

 

Trailing your fingers over them, you selected a thick black key with a Ford logo, then cautiously edged your way out the front door. It was late in the evening, judging by the level of light, greenery in all directions, a group of vehicles that was large and varied parked all over the lawn and driveway and you were standing on what you thought was a wrap around porch.

 

Thumbing the key in your hand, you determinedly stepped towards the stairs and eyed the vehicles, trying to spot your match. Hopefully it wouldn't be blocked in.

 

"Looks like I owe you 50 bucks," Brock's amused voice from the left made you freeze like a statue.

 

"Told you, mate," Jack said, from the right.

 

It wasn't a wrap around porch, just a long one, you realized as you scanned over Brock and then Jack. Brock was lazing in a hammock, scratching his chest and giving you a smug asshole smirk, eyes glinting. Jack was stretched across a bench, one leg planted on the ground and his posture suggesting he was ready to leap up at you.

 

You also spotted the truck and it was thoroughly stuck, surrounded on all sides by other vehicles. Your fist clenched around the key as you thought, no one moving otherwise. If you gave up this opportunity there was not likely to be another one, but there was a snowballs chance in hell of this going anywhere in your favor either way. Your legs shifted subtly, getting ready to dart.

 

"Gonna tuck yourself back in, sweety, or are you ready to play?" Jack called, smooth, rich voice teasing.

 

The outside of the house was brick. It wasn't much of an idea, but it was one. You burst into a sprint and flew off the deck while Brock laughed and Jack's heavy footsteps thunked rapidly after you, sucking in a breath when he jumped the railing and landed just behind you. He swiped at your back and missed, catching his footing and pursuing as you darted around the corner.

 

In the span of three seconds you leaped, hit the wall and climbed half way up it, fingertips digging into the space between the bricks with a practiced ease. A glance downwards revealed Jack standing there with his thick arms crossed, letting out a low whistle. "Hey Brock, come look," he called, broad shoulders shaking with his chuckling.

 

Your limbs were losing their power quickly, trembling when you returned to climbing at a slower pace, safe out of grabbing range.  Brock's boots swished across the grass and came to a stop beneath you, a short but amused exchange of words passing between the two men as you gripped the top of the roof with your left hand and made to pull yourself up. Out of reach was safe and you could get a good lay of the land from up here, you figured, and precious extra time to plot.

 

Until Brock leaped upwards like he had springs built into his legs and clambered up the wall as fast as you ever had on your best of days.

 


	8. Vice World 5 (ReaderxRumlow, xRollins *)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Criminal!AU  
> Villain!Reader, Villain!Strike Alpha  
> TAGS: RAPE, graphic depiction of injury, threats and making good on them, captivity, intimidation, domination, fucked up shit and implications of even more fucked up shit  
> Summary: Reader and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.  
> 

When you don't have the physicality of men, you need to make up for it in other ways. Threat assessment is a big part of that. Up until your recent huge fuck up, you considered yourself very good at threat assessment, overtaken only by your ability to climb.

  


Right now, you thought, if you could visibly see the kind of threat a person posed as a sign, Brock would have a glitter covered, blinking billboard advertising all the ways he could fuck your day up; like those colorful birds that danced, sang and waved their plumage around in an attempt to pick up a mate, but with more guns and knives. Rolling away from the edge, you clung to the peak of the steeply angled roof and cradled your now defunct right arm to your chest.

  


It would be wise to give in, to not make this worse than it had to be, but as you panted and looked out across the foliage, seeing nothing helpful and no indication of where you were in relation to the city, you steeled yourself. You resolved to fight like hell, until your body no longer functioned, eyes narrowing to slits as Brock's fingers curled over the edge of the roof and grasped at the peak for leverage.

  


As one of Brock's legs swung up in preparation to pull himself up, his head also raised to be partially revealed, his glare further cementing your nerves. "You're taking this," you clenched the shingles in your hand and kicked out with your legs, swinging a heavy kick at his head, "too damn personal!"

  


He ducked out of sight to avoid the kick, as expected, voice a loud snarl, "remember what I said on that phone? Huh? Remember?" He was getting pumped up, you thought, to make a fast move and overpower you.

  


Knees and sides scraping harshly against the low grit sandpaper texture of the shingles, you swung towards the edge and twisted to your back, ramming your right heel down over the edge and catching him in the face with your heel and the needle hiding in it. "ARH!" He barked, leg falling off and hand raising to try and swat you away.

  


You could only hope that caught him in the eye, because he sounded _mad_. Grunting in pain, you swung your leg back with the help of his shoving and rolled away, landing on your front and hanging there, panting and cringing at the full spectrum of pain. Your skin was scratched raw from the shingles, your whole upper right half was on fire and all your muscles burned in their weakened state.

  


Jack laughed mockingly a second before Rumlow snarled and skipped trying to use his legs to get up and just explosively _launched_ himself up with arm power alone.

  


"Ah, fuck," your words came out in a sigh and you tried to quickly shimmy away. There was a trail of blood across his flushed, veiny forehead and his expression was pure murder as he landed, both hands gripping the peak of the roof, and chased after you.

  


Breath coming in quick pants, you tried to match his pace so he couldn't catch up but you were worn down, running out of roof and he was far too fast. As his hands landed on either side of your head, you rolled and tried to kick him off as he made to pin you, letting out a breathless snarl. If you could break his grip he'd go for a real fall.

  


You couldn't. His teeth were bared and grinning, eyes bright with triumphant malice, as you caught him at the chest and he folded you in half with a quick shift of angle and sharply pulling his body against yours. A garbled scream rasped out of you when he brought his elbow down and pressed your injured side hard. "I told you," he hissed, holding you there while you squirmed and jerked.

  


As a drop of blood slid down the bridge of his nose, he stilled. Resting his forearm across the peak of the roof and bracing himself further with his thighs and feet, he let go with one hand and grabbed your right foot, twisting it and making you wince and glare as he checked the bottom. His grip tightened when he saw the needle and chewed up tubing sticking out. "From when you blocked the camera," he muttered, thumb caressing it.

  


While he busied himself prying the improvised weapon out of your foot, you turned and bit into the side of his forearm as hard as you could, closing your eyes tightly as this was usually the part where you got punched in the face in response. The needle tinkled as it rolled discarded down the shingles and his loose hand returned to grip beside your head. Drool slid out of the corners of your mouth as you dug in and he pressed close.

  


"Look at me," he growled into your ear. You shook your head, tasting copper.

  


He didn't wait or try to convince you further, just dipped his head in and clamped his teeth down on your trapezius muscle. "Nn-AGH!" You bellowed, letting him go and flailing, shoving at him with one hand and flexing your legs as hard as you could. "OfCOURSEthisisyourthing!" You snarled, turning your head to snap at his ear but he caught your jaw with one hand and twisted you away.

  


Focusing on trying to pry his hand off your face by gripping his thumb, you alternated between guttural noises and high pitched cries as he dug his teeth in and scratched your skin with his stubble. He'd definitely broken through the skin and then some. Your flesh stuck to and dragged along his teeth when he finally let up, long after you'd stopped struggling and just took it.

  


With a sharp tug, you were brought eye to eye with him. "When we get down there, you are going to get on a computer and wire us every penny you have," the surety in his voice irked you deeply, the blood on his teeth disturbed you.

  


"No," you rasped. Like a dragon with gold you'd not let a cent go, especially if that was all that was keeping you alive in this world.

  


Shifting his hand to your neck, he stormed to the edge of the roof, dragging you along the way. You were officially coining the phrase 'roof rash' at this point, your skin was raw. "No," you muttered breathily, kicking at him with your legs and trying to squirm away to no effect. He did not pause once you were at the very edge, just saw Jack waiting there and hurled you down as you let out a sharp shriek.

  


He jumped down after you like he was just hopping a curb, the breath was punched out of your lungs with a sharp _oof_ as Jack's arms caught you and he swung around, nullifying the force of your fall while Rumlow hit the grass with a heavy thud.

  


Rattled, you shook and gasped for breath while dropped to your feet and gripped at the back of the neck. Marched silently forwards, you were brought into the house and led up the stairs to the first floor, where a group of men were playing Super Smash Bros on a big screen TV. It might have been funny if your heart wasn't trying to break your rib cage and you were still processing technically falling to your death, you'd never fallen or been thrown from a height before.

  


"Be right back," Brock muttered, veering back down the basement stairs while the men playing their game eyeballed you and Jack took you across the room to another set of upwards stairs.

  


Upstairs looked like a barracks, with hammocks in neat rows and strategically placed pillars for them to hang off of and half the room blocked by a wall with a door at the far end. At the back of the room there was a single desk with two laptops sitting on it. Deja vu. "Look familiar?" Jack crooned at you as he forced you into the chair, ignoring your pained hiss as your raw skin made contact with the fabric.

  


"Why would I give you a damn thing?" You said as he flipped the two laptops open and sat on the edge of the desk leisurely. "It's the only thing keeping me alive."

  


"Not really," Jack said, eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement as he looked down at you, "do you think we're that hard up for cash? This, everything you're experiencing and will experience, is a message."

  


Two sets of feet were climbing up the old stairs as you frowned up at Rollins. "I'm starting to think you were just bored," you said.

  


"Get up," Brock said from behind and you stiffly rose to your feet, glad to be off the material. Looking over your shoulder at him revealed who he brought: the nurse, who looked very nervous.

  


Jack's boot rolled the chair aside and Brock stepped in close, guiding the woman along with a hand on her back. "Check her stitches. I think they can come out but I want to be sure," he said.

  


Your shoulder jumped at her touch and you bit back a pained noise, feeling her fingertips ghosting along the train tracks that made up the stitching. Her voice was very soft, fearful and subdued, "I think they should remain in a few more days." Her hand pulled away.

  


You wondered at the silence behind you before you heard the shifting of fabric and a soft whimper. "You aren't lying to me, are you, Sophia? Because this," you hissed as he tapped the bottom of your ass with the top of his boot, "is not worth losing your life over."

  


Sophia's voice was choked and halting, "s-sh-she told m-me you were g-going to k-kill me anyway!" Jack snorted.

  


"Nah," Brock said, his voice calm and collected, none of the waspish hostility he aimed at you, "she'd say anything to get out of her position. That's why you opened the door?"

  


"Yes," she croaked.

  


"Once those stitches are out," you flinched as he flicked said stitches, "you go back home, hale and hearty. We're not worried that you are going to rat us out. You wouldn't do that, would you, sweetheart?"

  


Sophia audibly swallowed. "No, but what about her?"

  


There was a gentle thumping, Brock patting her back. "Don't concern yourself with her. She's a liar, thief, murderer, so on so forth. She's earned everything she has coming."

  


You grit your teeth and glared at the laptops as Sophia's hand returned, this time actually thoroughly touching the stitching. You could feel them, loose and wiggly against her fingers, and knew what was coming. "They can come out, but no extreme, ah, exercise for the next few weeks. If you don't want them to open up again, the skin is still delicate," she said, pausing before lightly touching your new set of bloody teeth marks, "that will need disinfecting too."

  


"Got it," Brock said brusquely, "go downstairs and ask for Vasquez, tell him Brock wants you to go home."

  


"Okay," she said, footsteps light as she walked away and went down the stairs.

  


Jack hopped off the desk and swapped places with Brock, but not before you saw him pulling a knife from his pocket. Brock swung up onto the edge and crossed his thick arms, looking down at you, then tilting his head towards the laptops. "Wire us the money," he said.

  


Feeling the knife gliding along the skin of your back, you narrowed your eyes and shook your head, but otherwise remained very still as the razor sharp blade nicked away the first stitch. "Not a chance in hell," you said.  You heard the front door opening and people walking across the porch.

  


"Toss me that," Brock held up a hand and wiggled his fingers. Jack fisted the rumpled, twisted bed sheet that was still hanging around your shoulder, tugged it off you and tossed it as requested. You didn't even realize you still had it.

  


He ran the fabric through his hands thoughtfully as stitches were steadily cut and plucked off your back. "I'm glad you refused," he smiled then and it looked especially grim with the dried blood on his face.

  


There was a little satisfaction in knowing you gashed his head decently, but as he hopped off the edge of the desk and sauntered through the door a few feet away, you knew the pain had only just begun. Brock liked pain and giving it, that much was crystal clear now. Admittedly you were more of a giver than a taker when it came to the pain department, but you'd just have to roll with the punches.

  


Jack had finished with your stitches and you felt him pocket the knife before draping his broad frame over you, one hand wrapping around the front of your throat and the other cupping your sex, fingers dipping into the warm space between your legs. "Mmm," he said, chest vibrating against your back, "been waiting for you to get the all clear. You should thank me, Brock wanted you either way."

  


Your hips shifted, pressing into his adventurous hand and fingers, taking enjoyment while it was on offer. "Thanks, I guess," you said dryly. He felt nice, warm and firm, like he did during your first encounter at the club. Not that you'd fool yourself into thinking he wasn't going to punish you in some way too.

  


Brock appeared, pausing in the doorway and watching you, a dark look passing over his face before he jerked a thumb over his shoulder and made for the stairs at a quick pace.

  


Three fingers forced themselves into your cunt without warning, making you jump and wince from the resulting full-bodied pain of your scraped up skin rubbing on his clothes, never mind the pain of the intrusion. He hooked his fingers and jerked them upwards hard.

  


"Ah," you said, arching your back as your mouth fell open. That was new, he'd jerked you right to the tips of your toes and was holding you there, all your weight on those three fingers, and it was a harsh mishmash of pain and pleasure with his rough palm pressing and grinding into your clit.

  


He began to guide you forwards, one hand on your thigh and the other giving you firm, upwards tugs. "Brock won't tell me what he has planned for you, but I'm looking forward to it," his voice deepened and his rapidly hardening cock pressed against your ass as he brought you through the doorway.

  


Suddenly, he released you from his grip and sent you stumbling towards one of the beds with a shove to your lower back. There were several, all in a row along the wall, their blankets, pillows and sheets done with military precision. Where Brock and Jack slept, surely, and maybe men who were laid up and couldn't hack it in a hammock, you figured as your thighs hit the bed and you fell forwards to your one hand.

  


Your right arm was still nearly dead, which began to alarm you some as you curled it inwards until it was hiding under you, vaguely aware of Jack doing something behind you. When a strip of rolled up fabric covered your eyes you startled in surprise, trying to pull away from the blindfold until Jack jerked your head firmly into position and gave you a threatening squeeze. The squeeze stilled you, stirring the intense memory of that hand palming your head and the horrible pain.

  


Rollins finished tying off the blindfold and stepped back, letting out a pleased humm. "That's better," he said, palming your sore ass fondly and walking around the bed.

  


Denied your sight, you held still, knowing compliance would be best for the time being. You could reach up and pull the blindfold off but there would be a cost, no doubt about it. What was of more immediate concern was the way your bed sheet rope had been tied up to the headboard and the sound of Brock's approaching footfalls. An slow inhale also made you realize it was Jack's shirt wrapped around your head, smelling like his deodorant and general musky man smell.

  


The air shifted as the door opened and closed behind you, Brock's boots coming to a halt, clearly he was looking over the scene. He chuckled in amusement then. "Good idea," he said, walking to your right and depositing something to the night stand that made a hollow thunk and papery crinkle.

  


"Uhuh," Jack said, far enough away you thought he might be sitting on the next bed.

  


Brock sidled up behind you, one thick thigh filling up the space between your legs and touching just enough to let you know what was there. His breath caressed your face as he leaned in and spoke into your ear with a firm tone laced with warning, "get on the bed. Crawl to the headboard. Wait there."

  


Pausing for a moment, you mulled it over while the threat hung there before deciding to follow through with the command. Stiffly, you crawled onto the bed, your feet catching at his legs which he refused to move and haltingly shuffled up the soft blanket until your hand hit the headboard with a hollow clunk. It was a short distance to travel but the state of your body and only being able to put weight on one arm made it feel laborious.

  


Your hand curled into the blanket as you felt weight dipping the bed, Brock brushing against you just enough to get you anxious before your sheet rope was looped over your neck and a knot quickly tied. When he slid the knot to firmly press into your throat, you discerned it was probably a taut line hitch. It could be loosened or tightened easily, and you were pretty sure you knew which way that was going.

  


"Now if only you listened this well when I first told you to hand us back our fucking money," Brock slapped your ass so hard your legs gave out as he stood up, grinning as you yelped. "Too late for all that now."

  


"Did you fuck her against the roof?" Jack said wryly, "looks like she has road rash."

  


A pause. "I should have," Brock sounded actually sad about it, right before it felt like he poured acid into the bite wound on your shoulder. "Got a little distracted," he said.

  


"OH!" You cried sharply, pressing flat to the bed and spasming, forcing your hand back down to the blanket so as not to try and grab at him. A ripping sound followed by a couple harsh swipes over the bite proved that it was just that antibacterial liquid and he was cleaning the wound as per the doctor's orders. Panting, you pressed your face into the mattress and squirmed on the spot.

  


The distinct sound of a belt clinking and the slide of leather made you grit your teeth as you tried to recover enough to at least get to your knees and sit up. You managed by the time he'd finished undressing and landed on the bed behind you, though the sheet rope forced you to lean forwards or it would cinch tight around your throat.

  


His body heat came first, letting you know he was looming over you, probably mulling over what to do, the physical threat present and real. A familiar sound, flesh sliding along flesh, clued you in to what Rollins was getting up to a few feet away.

  


Just as Brock's hand grasped the sheet and began to curl it around his fist, tightening it around your neck, you blurted, "you're afraid of me."

  


He froze, then laughed like that was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard, a deep belly laugh that shook the bed. "What?" He asked, incredulous as he sat straight and pulled you into an arched position. "What did you just say?"

  


You swallowed tightly, throat shifting against the fabric, committed to your path now. "I get it," you rasped, the angle straining your voice, "I have beat you in every scenario: one on one, outnumbered, slipped out of your grasp how many times? You need me half dead just to be sure you'll win," you smiled, eyes closing as you prepared for retaliation.

  


"You've run like a rat the entire time," Brock's voice dropped into a growl, "you can't even look me in the eye."

  


"I beat your team, armed with assault rifles, with a paintball gun," you chuckled, though it was painful. "I got the upper hand on you, shot you in the ass, then fucked your partner, knocked him out and walked away laughing."

  


His fist was flexing dangerously near your head, shifting to pull the rope just a little tighter.

  


You carried on. The goal _was_ to make him lose his temper, after all. "After I disabled your entire team with paint balls and handily survived you stabbing me in the chest, I captured you and your second and proceeded to chain the both of you to a bed to be screwed at my leisure. Yeah, _Commander_ , you're scared of me." It wasn't too hard to sound smug, despite your situation.

  


His breathing quickened, a few rough pulls of air that made the ends of your hair dance, before smoothing over. "You, armed with a gun, ran away from me while I was naked with a knife," he said wryly, one hand landing on the back of your neck, thick fingers digging in slowly.

  


Well, if he wasn't going to flip his shit then you'd just have to be content that he wasn't hurting you while occupied with talking. It was also as good a time as any to point out the elephant in the room. "Yeah, about that," you wet your lips, "you ripped through steel like nothing, I know what I heard. You're faster than you have any right to be. I shot you in the ass and there's no mark. What's up with that?"

  


His grip roughened and he yanked you upwards by your neck while tugging the rope tight, restricting your breathing as your body crashed against his. He was a wall of muscle. "We're not friends. You aren't getting a story out of me. All you need to know is I am the last person you should have ever fucked with," his voice dropped to a growl and with a shift of his hips he slotted his stiff cock between your legs.

  


You made a throaty noise and struggled to breathe while your face reddened, in a last ditch effort to change the tone of what was about to happen, you reached between your legs with your left hand and stroked your fingers against the underside and head of his cock. He sucked in a breath, fist curling into your hair until it stung.

  


"Guide it in, you filthy slut," he rumbled, hips flexing against your ass and making his cock jut out further against your hand.

  


Your head already felt lighter, even though the asphyxiation was minimal, you were run ragged and then some, fatigued. Still, you complied. He felt larger now, bigger than when you had been on top of him, keyed up and horny beyond belief. As the head of his cock pressed into your hole, you decided you were grateful for Jack's big paw mauling you earlier, because you were nowhere near ready even after that.

  


As soon as he'd hooked inside you, he violently slammed you face first into the bed and buried himself to the hilt, your cry muffled. "Scared yet?" He hissed in your ear as he began to thrust, all hard, fast and aggressive.

  


It hurt, dammit, like being screwed by a block of wood. He'd laid off the rope enough that you could suck in a few desperate breaths, his hand snapping up yours when you tried to reach between your legs and generate something other than pain. "Every last one of us is going to fuck you. You'll be nothing but a cum dumpster and entertainment," his voice was ragged, his cock practically jumping inside you at the thought.

  


Eyes stinging, you closed them tightly and just took it. He'd fucked you in that warehouse and it was rough but nothing like this, controlled, ruthless and brutal. You wanted to fire barbs at him, insult his manhood and generally let him know he wasn't doing a good job but you just couldn't speak. He was using his whole body to dominate you, pinning you down and smashing the air from your lungs, tugging the rope tight whenever he thought you were getting too much air and blood flow.

  


This went on and on, him brutalizing you from the inside out and hissing filth into your ear. "Like that? Huh? Lasting long enough now, bitch?" He also bit you a few more times, shocking you back to reality with the pain until you just didn't have the energy to remain in the moment anymore and went limp, unconscious.

  


You only stirred when he came with a shout and threw you into the headboard with a clatter, a choked gasp escaping you as you laid on your side. Your arms curled inwards and you haltingly touched your skin, deliriously worried for a second that he'd really fucked you in half. No part of you felt more broken than your entire pelvic region, which throbbed with your heartbeat and had shooting spikes of agony, but you appeared to be whole still.

  


Brock was already off the bed and doing up his pants, "all yours," he said gruffly before you heard the door swing shut and his footsteps retreating.

  


Jack had been quiet the entire time, at least that you could remember, forgotten. Until now. Curling in on yourself as you heard him slip off the other bed, you couldn't help but cringe when the bed dipped with his weight. It was unclear if you could handle more of that, and Jack was a large man to boot.

  


His hands found the rope around your neck and, after a little adjusting, the rope was pulled away, much to your surprise. You wheezed in pain when his hands curled around you and transferred your weight into his arms. "Shh, shh," he said, voice soft as he brought you the few steps over to the next bed and sat on its edge.

  


It was too gentle, too kind, the way his hands stroked your skin and his lips kissed the top of your head. He was luring you into a false sense of security, but you were going to take what you could get. After some more painful shifting around, he sat back against the headboard and had you resting against his bare chest, fingertips playing along your back and playing with the dip in your spine.

  


"Just do it," you muttered. You could feel it, his erection brushing your leg when his legs moved.

  


"Do what?" His voice was light, teasing, but his hands cupped your breasts and stroked the nipples to hardness.

  


"Fuck me and get it over with," you mumbled, arms hanging down past his sides, hands resting against the blanket.

  


"Tell you what," he said, reaching up and curling your hair around a couple fingers playfully, "you get me off and I'll hold off on punishing you for now."

  


An incredulous, pained huff escaped you. "I can't even move," you said. In your head, you started thinking over the sexual profile of Jack, which was starting to feel a little at odds with the grim looking man who killed people. He certainly enjoyed watching and the tender touches might elude to a more gentle loving style, though he definitely proved he can give it fast and rough too. You supposed you'd find out more real soon.

  


"That's too bad," he said, voice still keeping that teasing tone as his head tilted down, lips getting near your ear, "between you and me, calling Brock 'grandpa' was hilarious but you definitely hit a nerve." You could feel him grin.

  


Dammit, your eyes were stinging again. You wished he would be cruel just so it would be easier to clam up and hate him, as it was, all this tenderness and playful talk were stirring up feelings. "I bet," you said airily.

  


His knees pulled up and you groaned in pain when he picked you up and turned you, resting your back to his legs, your thighs parting around his waist and spreading you open painfully. Especially painful was his cock pressing up against your labia. A fresh gush of liquid escaped you when opened and you knew for certain it was a frothy mix of bodily fluids, but mostly blood. "Your friend has a knife for a cock," you joked while privately worrying about the state of your insides.

  


He chuckled, hands sliding over your body until they hooked around your biceps and shoved you forwards, forcing a sharp gasp out of you as you were pressed up against his legs and maneuvered over his stiff cock. "Loved watching you ride me," he said, voice gravelly.

  


"Nonono," you muttered, throwing your arms around his legs and clinging, huffing, gasping and finally whimpering as he took hold of your hips and pulled your down slowly.

  


"You had your chance," he said in a hiss as he watched himself sink into you and you gave in, going limp as you were filled up once again.

  


A long, pained moan escaped you as he rocked his hips upwards, grasping at your shoulders and pulling you back against his chest again. "Don't hurt me," you whispered, face stuck in a grimace. If you could get away with begging anyone for mercy, it would probably be Jack, you decided.

  


He thrust upwards hard enough to make you shout. "Hypocrite," he growled, grasping your bruised hips tightly and starting to bounce you on his cock in earnest. "Can't take what you gave, sweety?"

  


"No, I can't!" You cried, the pain was blinding and he wasn't slowing down, thrusting hard and slamming you back down with his hands.

  


"You thought I was the nice one, didn't you?" He laughed roughly, leaning forwards and adjusting his legs until you were pinned flush against his body by strong arms that you suddenly knew with certainty could crush you on a whim.

  


Your heart hammered inside your chest to the point of pain when he fell forwards and mashed your face into the bed, holding your ass up and thrusting into you. His grunts and groans came in counterpoint to each wet clap of flesh on flesh. The worst part was that he went just slow enough, held back his strength just enough, that you couldn't pass out from the pain like you wanted to, wished desperately for.

  


In time you surrendered to terror and the experience became a blur up to the point where he came, holding you tightly to him as his cock twitched and spurted his load inside you, and then tossed you off the bed and to the hard wood floor with a crash, discarded with less thought than one would give a cum sock.

  


Darkness finally took your vision as you lay in a crumpled heap, liquid spilling down your inner thighs and entire body pulsing with pain that intensified with each heartbeat.

  


Snoring, followed by agony, was what woke you up. You barely bit back a pained sound, instead breathing in shallow, rapid pants until you calmed. On either side of you was a man in his bed and you knew in your gut that it was them, Jack and Brock, sleeping lions. With twitchy, shaky fingers you pried off the blindfold and unraveled it until it was just Jack's shirt, slipping it on. It fit you like a dress and covered everything that needed it, so it would do.

  


Fuck this, you thought with a spike of anger as you rose to a painful stand, feeling and hearing crusted blood partially breaking apart as your legs spread but otherwise keeping your labia glued shut. With purpose, you shuffled towards the door, unable to find it in yourself to be afraid of reprisal if you happened to wake someone up.

  


Staggering until you were leaning on the wall, you fumbled along, eyes adjusting to the low predawn light from the windows, until your hand curled around the doorknob and twisted it open. You almost fell down trying to open it and get by, but you managed. The next room was also full of dull snores of varying levels of loudness, masking the sound of you sitting down in the chair and opening the laptops.

  


Luckily for you, everything was still open. It was easy to load up your own banking site and complete the transaction, which hurt but again, fuck it. If you lived to see another day, you could always get more money. That and it wasn't like you didn't have more accounts, you were being vindictive and greedy when you refused to return it, not one to be outdone.

  


For a house full of what you thought would be light sleepers, it came as a surprise when you managed to get down the stairs, steal every single key they had on the wall and proceed to find yourself a getaway car. You dumped the keys to the side of the road about a mile out, not wanting to _completely_ alienate them. Only a little.

  


First stop: get a Canadian identity and take advantage of some much needed free healthcare.

 


	9. Vice World 6 (Reader/Rumlow)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Criminal!AU  
> Villain!Reader, Villain!Strike Alpha  
> TAGS: Stalking, abduction, intimidation, violence, nothing too crazy in this one really, some PTSD-like symptoms I guess?  
> Summary: Reader hasn't been bothered for a while and has been laying low, that'll be changing right about now.

"Welcome to Starbucks, may I take your order?"

 

"Two large double doubles."

 

"Two large double doubles, is that everything?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Thank you, I can help you at the second window."

 

You consciously unclenched your teeth for the hundredth time, a lowkey headache pulsing behind your eyes as you wondered what the media would call you if you killed everyone inside this place. A black SUV rolled up as you filled the order, placing the cups in their cardboard tray before approaching the window, lips pulling into a tight, plastic smile. Maybe 'The Cappuccino Killer', you could live with that.

 

As you pulled the window open and leaned forwards to accept the handful of cash offered, you froze, a strangled noise escaping you as you looked into the reflective aviators of a smirking Brock Rumlow.

 

"Hey honey," he said. A grinning goon leaning forwards in the passenger seat and leering at you.

 

Jerking back to life, you accepted the cash and mechanically made change, offering it with one hand and the coffee with the other. Your smile twisted to something more feral. "Thanks for choosing Starbucks, have a nice day," your sentence oozed so much passive aggressiveness that you might as well have said _bless your heart_.

 

"Oh we will," Brock passed off the drinks and settled his hands on the steering wheel, "see you around."

 

It had been _months_ since your captivity, if they really wanted to find you they could have done it much sooner, it wasn't like you were running at this point. You fumed your way through the day, deflecting questions from your asshole manager who was definitely victim #1 if you decided to become The Cappuccino Killer.

 

And of course Rumlow all but said you'd be having company, you were debating the merits of packing up and running all over again as you stood in the elevator and listened to the old machine moan and shift towards the fourth floor, where your apartment was. Getting back on your feet hadn't been easy, getting treatment for your damaged insides even harder when you realized you weren't even in goddamn Canada anymore, that they had somehow smuggled you back into the states.

 

One dead methhead, an acquired identity and a shift to a few cities over had you showing up at a woman's shelter and getting some help with few questions asked and a whole lot of sympathetic gazes. Playing the victim wasn't your favorite role but hey, technically you were one and the best lies have their base in truth, after all.

 

The job and the apartment were a temporary thing while you focused on building up some legal capital and physical recovery, you had decided. It had been hell rebuilding the muscle that had wasted away and you actually took up the offer for physiotherapy for your shoulder and arm when it was offered. You stopped yourself from making an angry growling noise when you strode to your apartment door and keyed it open.

 

You raised your hand as the door swung open, going rigid as the quarter you put at the top did not fall into your waiting palm, like it always did. Blood rushed to your ears as you became hyper aware of your surroundings, straining to hear anything in your darkened apartment as the hairs on the back of your neck prickled.

 

Flashing teeth, you plucked off your name tag and pocketed it before slipping in, shutting the door silently. Your living room was directly in front of you, an old recliner sitting in front of a decent sized flat screen TV, bracketed by speakers that were taller and heavier than you were. What? They were on sale. There were no sounds other than the soft taps of your work runners on the linoleum floor.

 

What were the odds they'd already searched the place and snatched up all your hidden weapons? Pretty good, you thought, they were professional assholes, after all. They probably didn't think anything about the cheap wooden panelling to the right of the door though.

 

Holding your breath, you picked up the small table in the way and placed it back down as quietly as you could, away from the wall, then dug your fingernail into the edge of the thin panel and pulled outwards. It popped out, the nails long since loosened by your meddling, and exposed your primary stash, untouched. You smiled and reached in, looping the ammo belt over your shoulder, tugging on the balaclava and then pulling out the already loaded Serbu Super Shorty.

 

It felt light but good in your hands as you straightened and popped out the vertical foregrip. Maybe it was time to move on from Starbucks anyway, get back to what you liked doing. The small kitchen was to your right and you checked it, fast and aggressive now that you were armed. You didn't have any plans on running this time, not without leaving some bodies behind.

 

Sweeping back into the living room, you eyed the hallway with the bathroom, supply closet and finally the bedroom at the back. Moving to the stereo system you cautiously knelt down and turned it up to 100 volume, trying to remember what song you had loaded on your connected mp3 player as you popped on the power with a too-loud click.

 

A sound, a barely audible metallic clack, cemented your strategy. You mentally prepared yourself and hit play.

 

The first notes were so loud, you actually felt winded and disoriented, ready or not. Well, if there was better battle music than the DOOM soundtrack, you weren't aware of it. Odds were a full city block were now aware too, if the tremors in the air and running up your legs through the floor were any indication.

 

Recovered, you charged down the hallway and fired through the bathroom door without hesitation. 2 shots left, you couldn't even hear the shotgun go off. Damn, that was money well spent, you thought. The supply closet door caved in and a fire instantly erupted as at least one of the spray canister cleaners, or maybe the WD40, exploded.

 

One shot left, you kicked in the bedroom door and had a millisecond stare off with a fully kitted thug, who dove for the bed as you pulled the trigger. You didn't stay behind to see if that shot landed because the supply closet was already up in flames as all those flammable materials were doing work. You finished reloading the shorty as you entered the living room and the front door was kicked open.

 

Whoever it was fell back just in time, flinging himself out of the way as you blew a chunk out of the door with a smile on your face and proceeded to run to the living room window. The door opened again and you fired yet again, warding them off as you pulled the window open. One shot left. Gritting your teeth, you took aim at the speaker and fired.

 

Sparks exploded outwards and the most horrible, piercing shriek imaginable poured out of the maimed entertainment unit. Not having any reason to hold back, you screamed angrily in return as you slipped out the window and hopped on to the decorative 1 inch ledge in the stucco, fingertips curling at the second ledge a bit above head level. Never more grateful for your paranoid nature than now, you darted along the wall with ease, seeing as you'd practiced this route several times over in the dead of night.

 

A glance below showed a few scattered people staring and pointing up at you, but no big thugs that you could see. The high pitched shrieking of feedback dropped to a managable level as you rounded the corner of the building and pushed yourself faster towards the opposite end, where the eavestrough pipe lead down to the parking lot below. Your choice of apartment wasn't an aesthetic one, to say the least.

 

Panting by the time you got there, you leaned on the pipe and reloaded the shorty before pinching the pipe between your knees, grasping it with one hand and sliding down while holding the gun aloft, scanning the area rapidly as you mapped out the run to your car in your head. Hitting the ground running, you went surprisingly unmolested to the car.

 

It struck you as odd that they would put all their eggs in one basket, or apartment in this case. Ripping off your balaclava and resting the shotty beside your legs, you took off at a painfully slow pace while adrenaline battered your system and your ears rang mercilessly. Smoke was billowing out of your apartment window, you saw it in the rear view mirror as you left.

 

Nobody was following you. You scrubbed your face furiously and pinched your nose while waiting at a stop sign, thinking over your next choice. There were many, a few you had laid out specifically, depending on the circumstances of your flight, but none were more appealing than going on the offensive.

 

You'd paid them back in full, they had their fun, you were even as far as you were concerned, albeit with bad blood remaining. Coming after you after all this time was pretty fucking rude. You stopped at a Staples and picked up a fresh laptop, warding the employee off of trying to foist extra crap on you with a death glare, then made your way to the edge of a gigantic corn field you'd scouted out previously just outside town.

 

It was in the process of being turned into a truly gigantic corn maze for an upcoming Halloween event and nobody would bother looking through it at this time of night, should you need to use it.

 

Shutting the car off, you sat in the quiet and sighed, the ringing in your ears was dying down at least. Popping open the laptop, you looked up the local news, it had been at least a solid hour since the event, you figured, there would be something by now. "Bingo," you murmured, eyes narrowing at the shaky footage someone caught of you running along the wall.

 

Their description of you was poor but the Starbucks outfit kinda stuck out, you'd have to ditch it. Not to mention the police _would_ have a good description of you if they connected the dots to your place of employment, who would certainly take note of you being missing. An angry hiss escaped you as you closed the laptop and hopped out of the car, shotgun in hand, slamming the door behind you.

 

You'd go for a walk, clear your head, then start thinking about where the Strike guys would be holed up. Maybe it would be good to pay the local drug hub a visit, see what they have to say. If nothing else you really wouldn't mind having a bump or two of cocaine and going on one hell of a bender.

 

You walked into the corn, running a hand through your hair as the tips of the leaves tickled at your face and clothes. Strolling out a ways, you sighed and chewed your lip as you thought, the surroundings instilling some much needed calm into your system. Right up until you heard a distant, loud click.

 

Turning on your heel, you raised the shorty and walked towards your car at a brisk pace, patting your pocket quickly to reassure yourself you'd taken your keys with you. A cold chill ran up your back when you broke through the foliage and saw your car sitting there with the trunk popped open. Nerves back tenfold, you ran over to the trunk, gun raised as you tried to keep an eye on all directions and peer in at the same time.

 

Nothing inside, just a small dufflebag you knew had a few clothes and handy tools. A glance towards the ground, trying in futility to spot footprints in the dark, revealed what looked to be an earpiece. Squeezing the tremor out of your hand, you knelt down and grabbed it up fast, shoving it into your ear and listening.

 

"You shot a few of my men," a familiar voice growled in your ear.

 

"Fuckfuckfuck," you whispered, licking your lips as you reached up and closed the trunk with a slam.

 

"That's right," Brock said, "try and drive away. I dare you."

 

He could easily have a sight on you right now, it would be absurd to think he wasn't armed. Even if he wasn't armed, he could run up and punch through a window while you got the car started. You were in a bind.

 

"If you wanted to do something other than fuck with me, you should have knocked," you snapped back at him, making the decision to walk back towards the corn and take your chances in there.

 

"I should pull your arms off," his voice had lowered and you knelt down in response, just inside the corn, and scanned as best you could with squinted eyes. There wouldn't be any light left soon, and you suspected he had an advantage on that front. You held very still and listened.

 

No footsteps, plants shifting, nothing.

 

Taking a slow breath, you got back to your feet and walked further down the row. "If that isn't what you wanted to do in the first place, then what did you want?" You wondered out loud, whispering.

 

"Why don't you focus on what's going on right now?" His voice was so soft, like he was trying to make sure you couldn't hear him in the flesh, you spun around and growled in frustration when he wasn't there. "Did you just growl at me?" He teased.

 

Clearly, he was superior in the sneaking department. "Alright," you muttered, "fine." You took off running down the row, straining your ears to hear pursuit, hands clenching your gun tightly at the ready.

 

He laughed audibly, somewhere behind you, but you still couldn't hear that bastard running.

 

When a few stocks of corn ahead and to your left rustled visibly, you hopped through the row abruptly, hoping to catch him there as you charged. You gasped audibly when a hand clamped down on your shoulder and cold metal pressed against the base of your skull, stilling you immediately.

 

"Been behind you this entire time," he said, giving you a sympathetic pat.

 

You blew out a slow breath, trying to calm down while holding very, very still. "I suppose a corn field isn't the worst place to die," you said.

 

"Bet you'd hate to die in a Starbucks outfit though," he said laughingly, shifting the gun from his right to his left hand and leaning over you to grasp the barrel of the shotgun, "give it here."

 

Relinquishing your grip on the weapon, you clenched your jaw as he pulled it away. "What now?" You said.

 

"We're going to go on a little trip and then discuss the specifics of your new job. Your talents are wasted slinging coffee," he said, holstering his pistol and pressing the barrel of the shotgun between your shoulder blades, grasping your shoulder in hand again. "Our ride should be here."

 

You made a throaty noise in response and followed his guiding hand, marching back towards the car. Soon you saw the headlights of another vehicle piercing through the rows of corn, shifting around until they were facing directly towards you, making you squint.

 

"The fuck do you need me for?" You wondered under your breath as you glared at the man who waggled a sack at you. Seriously. If they were so elite, respected, feared and connected, what in the hell could you do that they couldn't, or get someone who didn't want them dead to do? You sighed loudly when Rumlow caught the sack and put it on your head, you guessed you'd find out soon enough.

 

"Dump the car," Brock said in an authoritative tone after tugging your keys out of your pocket and tossing them to someone. "Let's go."

 

To your further surprise, you were actually escorted into a vehicle and sat down on a seat instead of dumped to the floor.

 

"Cops have a good description of you, you're a very wanted individual right now," Brock said. He'd seated himself beside you and you could feel his arm slung over the back of your seat, keeping you blocked in. Not that you'd bother trying funny business like this anyway.

 

"Doesn't matter," you said dismissively, "I blend in easy, not the first time and wont be the last."

 

He made a low noise in response that reminded you of the sounds he made during your last encounter well enough that you repressed a shudder. "You're very lucky all the men in that apartment were wearing armor and that you have bad aim, else this would be going very differently."

 

"I'm sure," you grumbled, partly displeased you'd not left him short a few comrades and yet, also glad. Being on the receiving end of his displeasure, and that damn surgery dream, still woke you up in a cold sweat every other night.

 

The ride was quiet and fairly long, about a half hour by your estimate, and you were pretty tired by the time the vehicle came to a stop and was shut off. "Up you get," Brock pulled you along, taking what you thought was oddly special care to make sure you didn't get tripped up.

 

This was no house either, you could hear boots on concrete, feel the unobstructed wind slicing at you and what sounded like a heavy steel door opening. You half tripped on your way through the doorway but Rumlow caught you at the back of the neck and ushered you forwards. It felt a lot like you were about to get bumped off, but it didn't make much sense, so you remained docile until you were sat on a chair and the hood pulled off.

 

You blinked.

 

"An airplane hangar," you said flatly, glancing around at the huge expanse of space and the various sized planes inside of it. And the men. There were a lot of them, all checking equipment, patrolling around, shooting the shit. They were all in Strike Alpha? Your brows were pinched together tightly as you absorbed as much information as you could, as fast as you could.

 

A chair scraping across the floor pulled your attention back, Brock having pulled up a seat directly across from you and the low table between you. "So," he said, placing your shotgun on the tabletop and reaching under the table to flick a switch.

 

"So," you said back sarcastically, pausing to stare up at the 3D green wireframe display that just appeared over the table. That was some seriously fancy stuff, you thought, tilting your head and looking over the image until you realized it was a series of buildings, maybe a compound of some sort.

 

"What do you see?" Brock folded his hands together and leaned back, dark honey eyes settling on you with a calculating stare.

 

You sighed audibly, looking back up at the image. "Buildings. A compound of some kind, I guess, seeing as it's fenced in," you gestured towards the fences and guard towers. You had a sinking feeling. "What does this have to do with me?"

 

"Seven days ago, two of ours were captured by the US Government," his voice changed, and you discerned it to be the kind of voice he'd use on his men when he's outlining a mission. Your shoulders drooped. "We found them here, in a black site. Do you know what a black site is?"

 

"A place that technically doesn't exist," you said, frowning tightly.

 

He nodded. "Government operates above the law in these places. Torture, experimentation, the works," he said, gaze hardening into a glare, "I want my men back."

 

"Well," you tossed your hands outwards, gesturing broadly at all the men he had handy, "looks like you got this well in hand. Good luck breaking into fort knox." You flattened your hands on the table and made to stand up, but were stilled when his lip curled back into a soundless snarl.

 

"That's why you're here," he glowered until you sat back down, "if we hit this place the way we want to, they are going to kill all their prisoners. Scorched earth policy."

 

You half shrugged at him. "I can't sneak into a place and carry your possibly severely injured pals out and do it all undetected. Though I'm flattered you seem to think I can?"

 

He shook his head. "Their ventilation system is unguarded because it is very small – your specialty -" he smirked and gestured upwards with one hand and hit a button on the table with the other, zooming in on a long, dome shaped building, the vents spreading through it like a mechanical spider web. "As of last night these men are still in good enough condition to take the operation into their own hands once you free them."

 

"How do you even know that?" You frowned up at the image. How could they get all of these schematics in the first place?

 

He gestured at the hangar around you, as if that explained everything, one dark eyebrow raised.

 

"Right," you said, frowning at him. "So you want me to go in there through these tiny vents and get your guys out. Then what happens to me after?" That seemed like a pertinent question.

 

Lips curling into a sinful smirk, he said, "you'll be rewarded."

 

"With money. Your dick isn't currency," you said, crossing your arms. Best to make that clear right away, you thought.

 

He laughed then, shrugging and smiling. It was nice, this non-hostile enemy version of him, but you weren't about to forget the stitches in your back or, even better, the ones inside your body. "Money," he confirmed.

 

"When are we leaving? I've been working at Starbucks," you gestured at your crappy outfit, "I'm not exactly on a night schedule here."

 

"You can sleep on the plane," he said, turning off the table and rising to a stand, gesturing at the fair sized plane they were loading cargo into. "We'll hammer out the details after you've slept and we've transferred vehicles."

 

"Right," you said, cautiously rising to your feet, wary of any sign that you were about to get jumped. Nothing happened, Brock left the shotgun on the table and lead the way towards the plane even, apparently not worried about you being at his back.

 

Strapped into a seat, you watched as just about every man in that hangar crammed into the plane like sardines. Armed with earplugs, you managed to drift asleep once in the air, despite being in the company of wolves.

 

By the time you were hopping out of the back of a van in the dead of night, barefoot despite protests and mocking, _I need my toes to climb the corrugated metal, fuck off,_ Rumlow had grilled you to death. You were pretty sure you'd be remembering mission details until the day you died. Which could possibly be today, you mused.

 

"Remember," he said into your one-way comm, "you tell Thompson his name and that Crossbones sent you, or he _will_ kill you."

 

"Sounds about as charming as you," you snarked as you slipped into the woods as the back of the van closed. You wouldn't complain about the hot cat suit Brock managed to pull out of his ass for you though, you were going to keep it. You couldn't see anything but he gave you steady direction and course correction until you could see the lights of the facility filtering through the thick woods and took over from there.

 

You had no guns. The vents were so small that all you could carry was some very slim knives, a garrote and a package that molded to your back that contained what you needed to get the captives out of their restraints and through the doors. There was also no turning around if your way got obstructed, that fact concerned you because you certainly didn't trust Rumlow of all people. You did however trust that he wanted his men back, and so you went.

 

Creeping up to the razor wire fence, you laid flat on the ground and waited for the all clear.

 

"30 seconds," Brock murmured in your ear. 30 seconds to get under that fence and to the next blind spot before the patrol goes by.

 

You made it in 15, where you proceeded to walk directly behind one armed patrolman while your grouchy mission control guide had verbal kittens in your earpiece, leaning to the side and out of the man's peripheral vision when he happened to turn his head. His patrol walked right by the primary building and saved you a ton of time.

 

"Are you trying to get shot? What's even the fucking point of the earpiece if you aren't going to listen? Don't piss me off." Already scrambling up the corrugated metal slope, gripping the ridges with your toes and assisting your hands in pulling your body up quickly, you grinned and stifled a chuckle. You'd poke the bear, you weren't planning on hitching a ride with him when this was over anyway.

 

At the top you took a minute to catch your breath, very glad you'd been pushing yourself physically all this time. Who knew what would have happened to you if you weren't physically capable of doing your surprise job? Actually, you were pretty sure you did know.

 

Blowing out a breath, you swung back to your feet and beelined for the vent you'd identified while you were cooling off. It wasn't bolted on, just a plastic thing that clipped in place. Government cutting corners like always, you smirked, it was always the same. With some cautious prying, you managed to remove it with little to no noise and set it aside, staring into the black and judging the size for yourself.

 

This was easily the tightest fit you'd ever gone crawling through, it made you uncharacteristically nervous.  In fact, were it not for the weight you lost during your delirious captivity, you probably would not have fit at all.

 

"Get in there," Brock growled in your ear, "we're on a timetable, in case you forgot."

 

You held up your middle finger to the tiny camera at your temple before taking a deep breath and pitching forwards into the abyss. Right away, it was a claustrophobic nightmare, even for you. Sliding downwards at a pace controlled by flexing your thighs, you focused on controlling your breathing and remaining calm. You were not going to die, stuck inside a vent that nobody could reach while you screamed, that wasn't your fate.

 

Brock recognized an opportunity, however. "You are more flexible than I thought, I think you and me are going to do some experimenting after this. Watch your face, hang a right here," his voice alternated from a naughty tone to all business and you rolled your eyes at his ongoing train of dirty talk and directions in your ear while trying to shimmy around corner after corner without making a racket.

 

Beneath you was the last barrier between you and the wing with prisoners, a guard station with a guy who looked like he took himself way too serious and unfortunately didn't fit any fat guard stereotypes. He'd already glanced around when you tried to move past so you were laying there, staring down at him through the grate.

 

"His shift doesn't change for an hour, we don't have that kind of time," Brock said lowly, "you need to get past him now."

 

Licking your lips, you steadied your nerves and then stretched forwards as far as you dared, bracing your hands against the cool metal, pressing firmly and then pulling yourself across the vent in one quick sweep. You heard the chair scrape the floor as the guard left it, tucking your feet in when a flashlight shined into the vent, holding your breath as he muttered something and withdrew.

 

"Good, keep going. Thompson is two grates down," Brock said.

 

Eager to get away from the observant guard, you wiggled onward, mourning the lack of downwards angle that made movement easier, now every move was by the power of your own legs and arms. Two grates down, you found yourself staring at what looked like a yeti in a chair. Not a yeti, you corrected yourself, some kind of Hagrid/Gregor Clegane/gorilla mashup, by the looks of him.

 

Eyeing the room around him, just a concrete box with him chained to a chair by the look of it, you slid your fingers between the slats and pressed down hard, wincing at the unbearably loud creak. Thankfully, your body would be blocking the noise to the guard room. "You conscious?" You called quietly as the grate bent and groaned, the screws beginning to loosen with the steady pressure.

 

His shaggy head raised up in response, though he was facing the door and away from you. Good enough. He didn't look too rough, as far as you could see, some blood on his bare arms and legs, probably had a dented up face.

 

Two screws popped and you wrapped your hand around the grate as you folded it forwards until it was out of the way. More difficult was shuffling forwards until you could get your legs through the hole and then swinging down without making a racket. Landing on your feet with a patter, you immediately positioned yourself behind the chair and tugged the slim pack off your back.

 

"Good job," Brock said, "don't forget to tell him."

 

You were already holding up the weird magnetized contraption to the heavy duty shackles binding his wrists together. "You're Thompson," you said as they opened with an audible click. Looking at this guy from above really didn't do him justice, he was a god damned ogre with forearms comparable to your thighs.

 

"Cross-" you let out a muffled yelp as his arm snapped out and he caught your whole face with his hand, dragging you around him and between his legs where he neatly pinned you in place. His hand on your head made you flood with realization and panic, this was the guy that held you down and carved up your back. Legs flailing around, you tried repeatedly to finish the sentence while he apparently contemplated how he was going to end you.

 

"You're lucky I remember you," he murmured, voice hoarse, before letting you go.

 

"Idiot," Brock chastised you as you flew to your feet and stumbled back a ways, trying to slow down and keep from hyperventilating.

 

"Crossbones sent me, you _prick_ ," you whispered fiercely before returning to him as he rubbed at his wrists, kneeling between his legs and opening the ankle shackles while trying to ignore the fact you were shaking uncontrollably.

 

Thompson rose to his feet and rolled his shoulders stiffly while you scuttled away, towards the door. You did not want to be anywhere near this guy and you slammed a fist into your thigh when you nearly dropped the key card machine for the third time.

 

Brock was paying attention. "You remember him," he said, "he's one of our medics."

 

Shoulders jerking with a silent laugh at the very idea that this gorilla was a medic of all things, you finally got the keycard in place while Thompson moved up to the door beside you, waiting with clenched fists. "Want a knife?" You muttered, glancing up at him while the fancy machine in your hands hacked the door.

 

He shook his head slowly and you gulped as the keycard lit up green, you held your hand up and counted down silently. 3. 2. 1. The door unlocked with an audible clack and you slung your gear back on in a hurry as Thompson stormed out. There was a brief sound, like a panicked choke, followed by an audible crunch and you weren't surprised to see a mangled body fall to the giant's feet.

 

Thompson stripped the guard of his gun and gestured you to follow with a low wave of his hand. "No," you said, ducking down slightly out of instinct when he sharply turned to glare at you, "one more prisoner," you waved for him to follow and took off without looking back.

 

"Very end of the hall, on the left," Brock said.

 

A shout followed by gunfire made you nearly jump out of your skin and you ran the rest of the way to the door, thankfully not fumbling too hard with the keycard. Thompson had dispatched a patrolman who came around the corner at the wrong time and a siren began to sing as you yanked the heavy door open and beheld the last prisoner.

 

"You look like shit," you said to Jack Rollins, who was looking up at you with one eye swollen shut, a split lip and still managing to look confused.

 

"The fuck are you doing here?" He mumbled in a dry rasp as you flew through the process of unlocking his shackles while Thompson filled up the doorway and exchanged fire with more security down the hall.

 

"We're hitting the compound now, get out of there," Brock said.

 

"I just really missed your abs," you joked, he was shirtless and bloody, wearing nothing but boxer briefs.

 

He caught a rifle that Thompson tossed to him and grinned, lip splitting right back open in the process, "we get out of here, you can touch 'em all you want, sweety."

 

"Yeah well that's in your hands now. Crossbones is hitting the compound right now, shouldn't be too much resistance soon." You followed loosely behind them, knife in hand, and debated the merits of hopping back into the vents and leaving them to fend for themselves because you weren't keen on being shot at. Thompson was easy to hide behind, at least.

 

The situation was scary, you had to admit it. This wasn't how you usually went about business and you were getting a real look at the kind of damage just a few of these Strike Alpha guys could do, which was sobering by itself. It was like a high tech Game of Thrones episode up in here.

 

Thompson had you following close behind him while Jack took point, both guarding you closely whenever you reached a key card door. It hadn't really set in until just then, but you realized that you were messing with the _US Government_ right now. Your face wasn't covered, Strike Alpha weren't your pals and odds were pretty good you were on your own after this.

 

Your stomach twisted into knots and you managed to fret over your future while being shoved around and herded through the facility. Brock wasn't there to tell you where to go so Jack and Thompson were feeling it out. "We're down about 3 floors, I think," you said as you crowded into a stairwell.

 

"You think?" Jack hissed but began the upwards climb all the same.

 

"I came in through the vents, jackass," you snapped right back, already feeling winded by the time you hit the second flight.

 

"That's why he dug you up," he muttered.

 

"Fuck me," you gasped for breath half way up the third flight, the two men shaming you with their speed despite their condition. "Nonono," you tried to wave off Thompson as he swept down towards you, letting out a squeak that you would never admit to when he grasped the back of your suit and picked you off your feet like a suitcase, taking stairs four at a time with each step.

 

"Keep up," he growled at you, but carried you all the same. If a grizzly bear had a voice, it would be his. At the top of the stairs he planted you back to your feet and shoved you at the keycard door.

 

"I'm so screwed," you muttered despondently as the door clicked open, following your human shield as they spilled into the hall.

 

There were a few more tense exchanges of gunfire but Jack covered Thompson, who was in better physical condition, each time and it was almost comical how he threw fully armed men around and dashed them off of things until they fell limp. You were thoroughly jittery by the time you emerged into the night air where sirens, gunshots and explosions broke your resolve.

 

Breaking off and running like hell, you thought you might have heard Jack shout something at you but you weren't humoring it anymore. It was time to go. A man stumbled into your path and you opened his throat up without breaking stride, running for the fence you crawled under earlier. Fires lit up the night, giving the war zone a hellish touch.

 

Hitting the fence hard, you squirreled your way under it with frantic energy, rolling to your back and shielding your eyes from a huge explosion. Not satisfied you were safe, you rolled over and took off into the woods, hissing in pain when your feet slammed into rocks and jabbed on sticks occasionally. You were doing a weird kind of hobbling run by the time you stumbled onto the road.

 

A sharp whistle drew your attention and you groaned audibly at the goon sitting on the hood of a black car with all the lights turned off, gun trained lazily on you. "Crossbones sent me, in you get," he thumbed over his shoulder.

 

Suitably annoyed, you trailed over and got into the car as ordered. Damn him.

 


	10. What's An Orange To You? (Reader/Rollins)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No AU  
> Thief!Reader, Hydra!Rollins  
> TAGS: Nothing really. Comedy? Impending doom?  
> Summary: Jack Rollins has an upcoming diet cheat day. Reader ruins it.

Jack Rollins was an ill-tempered brute of a man but today was an especially good day. Today lead to tomorrow and tomorrow was a cheat day, which always gave him a little pep in his step.  His diet was hell as far as he was concerned. All of Strike Alpha knew of the direct connection between cheat days and the terrifying second in command's happiness, but not a one dared mention it.

 

Tomorrow, he thought as he buffed the perfect orange he grabbed from the market on his shirt, was going to start with this delicious orange candy. He placed it on the kitchen countertop reverently, knowing it would be there waiting to make him happy the next morning, and left to get ready for bed.

 

Your old bicycle squeaked as you slowed to a stop at the end of the alley, hopping off and leaning it quietly against a fence. It was the dead of night, your hours of operation, and your target should be nice and easy tonight. Whoever lived in this middle class house didn't even put a bar behind the sliding glass door at the back. All you knew was that the person who lived there was definitely not a woman, not with that kind of nonchalance about safety.

 

Counting the houses as you walked through the alley, you stopped at the target and nimbly climbed the high wooden fence. The back yard was immaculately groomed, with a barbecue and a little fire pit built perfectly up to code. Your stomach growling curbed your spike of jealousy, you envied people who could operate above their base needs.

 

Sidling up to the sliding door, you knelt down and pulled a weathered paper clip from your pocket, pinching the end between finger and thumb and bending it just right. Catching your bottom lip between your teeth, you held it there as you slid the lock pick into the keyhole and began your work, cringing at every little sound. As practiced as you were, it was always a stressful task to break into a strangers' home and steal, there were risks no matter what.

 

The glass door slid open near silently and you slipped in, leaving it open behind you in case of unforeseen emergencies. From what you could see the inside was pristine, anally so. As you made your way to the kitchen, cautious of every little sound, you wondered how this guy would react. You wondered that all the time actually, though the truth was your victims probably never took notice.

 

Your eyebrows perked up when you noticed the perfectly spherical shape of an orange sitting on the counter. Well, that was easy. Palming the orange, you snuck up to the fridge and took a quick look for anything else that was easily snatchable. You cringed at what was revealed. _Eugh_. Poor guy was a health nut, you'd rather starve than subject yourself to some of those crazy health food trends.  Was that dried kale flakes?  It looked like fish food.

 

Disappointed, you turned and left, convinced the cupboards would be full of rows of protein powder and nothing edible. At least the orange would be nice. Poor guy lived off of avocados and kale, you almost felt bad taking it. Almost.

 

Jack rolled out of bed genuinely happy, so happy he'd have to disguise it if anyone else was around, but they weren't and so he went about his morning routine with perky energy. Until he arrived at the kitchen, pausing mid stride with his hand scratching at his bare chest. He blinked a few times to confirm what he was seeing. No orange.

 

Well, it was pretty round, it probably rolled off in the night, he figured.

 

A quick inspection proved that not true, and now Jack Rollins' happiness was quickly morphing into murderous rage. Nothing was gone from inside the fridge or cupboards and a check of the white tiled floor revealed bits of dirt that lead to the now unlocked sliding back door. Nostrils flared, fists clenched and tremoring with the suppressed urge to smash something, he glared holes through the glass. His tasty food filled weekend was now on hold. Agent Jack Rollins had a new mission.

 

There was a thief out there who was going to pay. Dearly.

 


	11. What's An Orange To You? 2 (Reader/Rollins)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No AU  
> Thief!Reader, Hydra!Rollins  
> TAGS: Nothing really. Impending doom?  
> Summary: Jack gets a lead on the thief and you finally meet. He also has a way with senior citizens, apparently.

Once he'd calmed down to a few degrees below nuclear meltdown status, Jack picked up the phone and started making calls. Nobody would suspect a man like him to be well connected in his neighborhood, but he was. The approval of little old ladies in particular went a long way towards selling his cover as a benign SHIELD agent and not an embedded HYDRA operative.

 

It was one of those old grannies that clued him in to the nature of the thief. No one else had noticed anything missing from their home so far. "Good morning Mrs. Diaz, it's Jack," he said. Mrs. Diaz was his favorite, she was especially sassy for a 76 year old woman.

 

"Jack, it's been too long!" She cooed in his ear. Mrs. Diaz loved him to bits, even if he never accepted her baked goods. He really, really wanted to though. "To what do I owe the pleasure? You don't call me to have polite conversation, dear."

 

"It's true," he admitted, "but you tease me with baking and candy and I just can't handle it. I'm calling because someone broke into my house last night actually, and I'm wondering if you've had any similar issues?"

 

"Yes!" She squawked, "the dolt that assisted living sends here told me I was just imagining having made a pie. Someone stole my damn pie, Jack! I am not senile, as much as these little assholes wish I was."

 

Jack grinned darkly. "You up for some company? I can see if the thief left anything behind, maybe get enough information that I can file a police report over it." The police were never going to hear a peep.

 

"Of course Jack, you are always welcome in my house...so long as you take your shoes off, it isn't a damn barn," she said.

 

"Be right there," he said before hanging up. With any luck something would turn up, Agent Jack Rollins was more than skilled enough to take on a petty food thief, as that thief would soon learn. But first, he'd get some flowers to give to Mrs. Diaz. White gardenias and purple asters, she told him last time they used to be her favorites, Jack was nothing if he wasn't attentive.

 

She loved them of course, clapped her hands together at her breast and gasped out loud when he appeared in her doorway with the bouquet and a smile on his craggy face. "Oh, if you were wearing a proper suit I'd take you as my third husband in a heartbeat!" She beamed as she took the flowers in hand and labored her way towards the dining room, her legs were slowly going on her but she was impressively spritely still.

 

"Sorry Mrs. Diaz, only time I put a suit on is when I'm being paid generously," he closed the door, toed his shoes off and followed along. "So you said the thief stole a pie? It was in your kitchen, I assume?" God, her whole home smelled like baking and home cooked meals, his mouth watered and he felt a fresh spike of anger over missing his cheat day.

 

"Yes, I had it cooling on the counter over there. Go ahead and look but it was several days ago and you know I like to keep my home tidy," she waved him off while she busied herself getting the bouquet into a vase.

 

"Well let's have a look," he said amicably, walking into the kitchen and identifying the thief's point of entry immediately: an old window that was open a crack, that he would bet anything was open that night too. Ignoring the counter top and floor, as those would be clean like she said, he walked up to the window and hefted it open. As soon as he looked inside the seat of the window he smirked, reaching in to grasp the evidence. "Well, no offense intended Mrs. Diaz, but I don't think you have had anything but white hair for a few years now."

 

"Oh?" She said archly, her shuffling footsteps approaching.

 

"Mhm," he said, raising the long hair and holding it up for her inspection.

 

"A woman then," she glared at the hair through her glasses, squinting, "this bitch stole my pie, Jack."

 

If she were younger, Jack wondered at the kind of wrath the diminutive hellcat could unleash. That was alright though, he was far from decrepit and he had more than enough wrath for the both of them. He grinned down at her and pocketed the hair. "That's a good lead," he said, "someone may have seen her casing the neighborhood."

 

"I hope so! Now, you hold on a minute," she shook a slender finger at him and turned to the fridge.

 

Oh no. His shoulders sagged slightly, the burden of having to reject her gifts about to weigh heavily on him. "You know I can't accept your delicious temptations, Mrs. Diaz," he said.

 

"Like hell you can't. Don't make me force you, young man," she stooped forwards and reached into the fridge, pulling out a tupperware container and shoving it at him. "It is a _single_ brownie, so I don't want to hear one more word about it, just take it and go."

 

Jack was a highly trained, talented individual who could resist all kinds of torture techniques, stay cool under fire and was well known as one of the first-class interrogators on the HYDRA roster. He just wouldn't tell anyone that missing a cheat day and a little grandma broke his spirit, he decided as he reluctantly took the container and nodded grimly like he had been given a high stakes mission.

 

"If you find her before the police do, kick her in the knee for me!" Mrs. Diaz said right before she closed the door on him.

 

He chuckled. "Anything for you, Mrs. Diaz," he said. One kick in the knee, coming right up. Of course he had to catch the thief first, and in that regard the second phase of his plan was about to be put into action. When he got home he broke down and opened the tupperware, a short bark of a laugh escaping him when he realized it was a complete tray of brownies that hadn't been cut yet. One brownie indeed.

 

It took a few minutes of digging, he hadn't had any use for these particular tools in a long time, but he finally procured a handheld blacklight and expertly dusted the long handle of his fridge door. The hair was a good lead, but Mrs. Diaz did have younger workers coming through her home and cleaning regularly, he just wanted to be sure. As he flicked on the light and shined it over the door, he saw his own large hand print layered in the same spot he always grabbed it.

 

He grinned, big and mean, when he lowered the light and saw a single, small, slender-fingered hand print below.

 

You bit into the apple you pilfered off of a local tree, cycling along at a lazy pace with your elbows on the handles while side-eyeing the homes you passed. It was a nice day, you were relatively full of food and almost dry from your wash at the local gym showers. The proprietor of the gym allowed you free access after you picked the lock on her car for her when she locked herself out.

 

It wasn't exactly hard to bullshit up an excuse for knowing how to pick locks effectively. _Oh dear, I used to lock myself out of the house at least once a week! I saved a fortune, did you know that locksmiths charge upwards of 100 dollars per lock picked?_ Easy peasy. So now you were back on the prowl, cycling around the same few streets over the course of the day and picking your next target.

 

By dusk you were trailing through the alley you used the previous night, you were already pretty sure that the next house over from the last was a fine meal ticket and all this extra cycling was a product of excess caution and the fact you had nothing better to do with your day anyways. Low chain link fence, no visible alarm system, old windows that might not be locked and if they were a perfectly pickable back door was available, it looked good.

 

Nodding to yourself slightly, you gripped the handles and pedaled harder, cringing at the awful squeaking coming from the bent rim of your front tire. You'd have to find a way to either get a new bike or repair this one soon. For now, you needed to be out of the area until nightfall so as not to rouse any suspicions.

 

So immersed in your thoughts, you didn't pay any attention to how fast you approached the corner of the alley where your vision was obscured by tall hedges. You only had enough time to gasp as a person walked out right in front of you, your tire running over a foot and the handles of your bike slamming into a body that didn't budge an inch, all of the momentum channeling into your body which promptly went flying ass over teakettle.

 

You barely managed to shield your head as you hit the sidewalk and landed in a heap. A pained groan from you was partially obscured by a curse and the sound of your bike being shoved aside roughly.

 

"Are you alright?" A deep, smooth voice said.

 

"Yeah," you shifted slowly from your side to a knee, you laughed a little then, "are you? I'm the one that ran into you with a bike."

 

"I'm fine, I am not the one who hit the pavement," he sounded amused.

 

Blinking a few times, you finally registered more details about the person you accidentally committed vehicular assault on as he knelt in front of you.  He was big, for one, the sleeveless t-shirt he was wearing seemed to barely contain his broad frame and muscles, and he had on some grey jogging pants that lead down to large runners. Pale, leaf green eyes were looking at you critically, set in a masculine face with good cheek bones and a strong jaw with a thick scar running from chin to mouth.

 

You were so busy staring that you barely registered him placing a large hand on your head and thumbing open your eye, one after the other. "Well I don't think you have a concussion, you good to stand?" He quirked a brow at you.

 

Gulping, you blushed a little and waved him off, rising to your feet with a sigh. It was a good thing you were wearing pants, but your knees were definitely skinned either way. "Good to go," you said.

 

He was still kneeling there as you stepped to the side towards your bike, eager to be away and feeling guilty of your profession to boot. You were grasping your bike at the handles and getting ready to leave before his hand landed on your shoulder, making you jump a little as you looked back with the question written on your face.

 

"You dropped this," he said, holding up your weathered paper clip.

 

"Oh," you said, cautiously reaching up to grab it, "thank you." It was bent back into the usual paper clip shape, but the fact the plastic covering was partially stripped off of it and the tip was a little wavy made you feel like its actual use was glaringly obvious. Still, your average person did not know the extra, less-than-savory uses of the common office supply.

 

His face and voice were perfectly neutral as he stepped back, arms lowering, "no problem."

 

Nervous, you quickly pocketed the tool and scratched the back of your neck. Something told you that this guy knew. Worse yet, you felt suddenly aware of the isolation, the fact that this man could easily get a hold of you right now if he wanted, could probably even outrun you and your crappy bike if he put his mind to it.

 

You plastered on a friendly smile and stilled your thoughts. It was not wise to ignore your gut instincts, but you were removing yourself from his presence in a second and his actions had proven benign so far, that was what mattered. "Have a good one," you said, hopping on to your bike and pedaling away without further hesitation.

 

"Stay safe," he called after you.

 

It was her. He knew it in his gut the second he saw the long hair, the willowy runners frame, big wide eyes. The paper clip, clearly a lock pick, just snapped the puzzle piece in place. The fact he had heard that stupid bike squeaking all day as she cased the neighborhood just made it painfully obvious in his mind, he had engineered that little crash just to check. It took all his willpower not to chase her down and tackle her, pound her to pieces with his fists.  No.  This would be done differently and precisely to his satisfaction.

 

It was time to get to know his prey.

 


	12. What's An Orange To You? 3 (Reader/Rollins)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No AU  
> Thief!Reader, Hydra!Rollins  
> TAGS: Stalking, impending doom, the beginnings of mindfucking  
> Summary: Reader goes about her business, Jack starts gathering information on his target and gets his nice SUV a wash too.

You were so sore by the time you were dragging your squeaky bike through the overgrowth that you considered just sleeping it off, taking a break. The crash with that man continued to play on repeat in your head too, forcing you to analyze it to death. Had his hand really lingered on your head, fingertip caressing a strand of hair, like you seemed to think it did? Was there accusation in his tone when he handed you the paper clip, the grip on your shoulder just a little too tight?

  
Climbing up the low, mossy slope that signaled you were home, you were relieved to stop fretting if only for a few minutes. Home was a dilapidated shed with a tin roof which was slowly being overtaken by trees that would push through its rotting wood frame in time, but given its isolated location and the fact no one had ever chased you out of it, it had more furnishings and homey touches to it than any other place you'd holed up in before.

  
Stiffly, you placed your bike under the lean-to at the side of the shack you'd made out of branches, sticks and grass in an effort to keep it out of the elements and out of sight. With care you avoided the steps that were too rotted to bear weight and shouldered the old door open, feeling that sense of safety that only home could give as you shut it behind you. Over time you had collected various useful tools, either given or earned, and took pride in the belongings you did have.

  
Shifting around in the dark, you found your lamp and flicked it on, illuminating the plain insides of the shed. There was a table to the right, shelving to the left and just enough space at the very back for your thick sleeping bag and threadbare pillow. Just about everything you owned was threadbare, in fact. Placing the lamp on the table, you dug into the backpack that had its holes taped up and withdrew your clothing for tomorrow. Your current clothes were grimy to begin with but that crash and burn earlier had jumped cleaning them up on the priority list.

  
Yeah, you'd sleep tonight and worry about food and clean clothes tomorrow, you thought as you stared down at the tempting bedding. Shutting off the light, you toed off your shoes and crawled into the sleeping bag without further hesitation. Sleep came fast but like always, never peaceful. Only this time, you didn't know the name of the man menacing you.

  
For a thief who literally broke into homes that were occupied, she didn't seem particularly aware of being followed. It was almost disappointing, but Jack knew everything there was to know about hunting down and isolating a target, how to incite fear and panic, even how to leave a person questioning reality. And when he stood there, just a few steps away from the shit shack his orange thief lived in, probably an abandoned trapper hut, he knew exactly how he was going to go about this.

  
Tonight, she could rest easy. He turned and quietly navigated his way through the woods, back to his SUV. This was probably the ignored edge of property connected to an old family home, it was a good spot as far as squatting went, he had to admit. Jack had certainly slept in worse places on missions.

  
You woke up cold, stiff and extra sore, brows furrowing together and eyes blinking sleepily. Ugh, today was going to suck.

  
Jack's eyes snapped open and his hand reached out to grab his phone off the nightstand, thumbing off the motion detector alarm that he'd placed under the stairs of the shack. 5:10am. His orange thief was an early bird, one more reason to hate her just that much more.

  
With a low growl, he flicked through his contacts and started up a call while sitting up and stretching his shoulders and neck, cartilage popping loudly.

  
"Rumlow," came the instant response. Brock Rumlow, leader of Strike Team Alpha, was already at work, seeing as this wasn't his day off.

  
"It's Jack," he said, voice gravelly with sleep, "I need some time off."

  
"What?" Brock sounded stunned. "What happened?" Jack Rollins _never_ took time off.

  
"Someone broke into my house and stole from me Saturday morning," Jack rumbled.

  
"What did they steal?" Brock's voice became sharp with warning, the unspoken _it better not be HYDRA related_ hanging there.

  
"My food," Jack said, suppressing a snarl as he stood.

  
Silence.

  
"Your cheat day food?" Brock asked tentatively.

  
"Yeah," he said, grabbing up some pants and and sliding them on one-handed.

  
"Take what time you need," Brock said, voice dropping to a mumble, "you're just going to end up killing someone at work anyway if you don't."

  
"Thanks," Jack said sarcastically.

  
"Don't thank me. You're still on call, am I clear?" Brock said.

  
"Yeah," Jack said, "later boss." Rumlow hung up first. He flew through his morning routine and hopped into his vehicle and as much as he hated waking up early on a day off, he was going to wring some pleasure out of this day come hell or high water. Choking down a disgusting green slurry with the texture of slime for breakfast did not improve his currently volatile disposition, however.

  
You decided to forgo the bicycle today, taking your backpack with your dirty clothes, hair brush, a library book and spare sandals instead. Once you were clear of the brush you swapped the shoes on your feet for the sandals and started walking towards Wash-N-Go, a car wash that was often understaffed with an owner who didn't mind paying you under the table for a few hours of work here and there.

  
Getting clean clothes today revolved around convincing Michael to let you work in some capacity, so you were wearing your long, cream colored sundress with a small red flower pattern on it. Luckily it went down to mid calf instead of above the knees, because it looked like you ran a cheese grater over them. The plan was to hit the library after the Wash-N-Go, succeed or fail, since you could usually score a meal from the librarians who took personal offense to your stomach rumblings disturbing the peace.

  
Jack would have missed her if she hadn't been walking out of the field that lead to her squat, doing a double take at the pretty dress and long, oddly-clean-for-a-homeless-woman hair that draped over her backpack. She looked like a leggy young adult who was still cashing in on that innocence card, the thought made his cock twitch in interest. His brows furrowed and he grabbed his phone, trying to recall an old number as he followed slowly at a distance.

  
"Hey Michael," you smiled and waved to the man behind the counter inside the Wash-N-Go, "do you need an extra hand today?"

  
"No," he said brusquely, "it's 6:30am, haven't even had a customer yet." The heavyset man leaned on the counter, eyeing you.

  
Ignoring the leer with practiced ease, you gave him a half shrug. "Put me on sign duty and I'll get you some customers then," you tilted your head towards the sign that was hanging off a hook on the wall.

  
"Looks like you've already been working pretty hard," he said, lip curled into a sneer.

  
You frowned in confusion until you realized he was looking at your arms, your skinned red elbows in particular. Flushing in anger, you modulated your voice to something less acidic before speaking, "I fell yesterday." Ignoring lascivious looks and remarks was one thing, but you never gave those who suggested you did street work the time of day, Michael was no exception. "Going to put me on the sign, or not?"

  
He grunted at you like the pig he was, but he jerked a thumb towards the sign anyway.

  
Breathing a subtle sigh of relief, you quickly walked to the sign and swapped it with your backpack. There was nothing worth stealing in there anyways. Walking outside, you took up your place on the grass beside the sidewalk and smiled brightly with practiced ease. All things considered, today was getting off to a good start.

  
Jack slowly drove by, glaring at her through the heavily tinted windows before pulling into the car wash. So she was homeless, but she had a job? Something was definitely off about that. Sure, rent was high but that was what roommates were for, and who would choose to live in a rotting hut and shitting in the woods over living in comfort with some strangers?

  
He relaxed as he drove into the wash and pulled to a stop, the conveyor track taking over. Dragging his laptop from the passenger seat, he popped it open and started doing some digging. Sanchez, who he called earlier, was easy enough to coerce into using facial recognition on her and getting a name. Everyone existed digitally on some level, this girl was no exception, he'd find her and all the dirt that followed.

  
5 hours and many honks and extra customers attracted later, a sharp whistle from Michael drew your attention. Figuring it was about time to pack it up, you made for the entrance to swap out the sign with your backpack and then head to the back of the building where Michael would pay you with cash in private, away from security cameras, like he usually did. He was pulling a couple bills from his wallet when you rounded the corner.

  
"Hey," you said, smiling as you approached, "got you some customers."

  
"Yeah," he said, eyeing you as he handed over the bills, less than minimum wage but it wasn't exactly like there was a union for people who worked under the table. His eyes tracked your hands as you stuffed the money into your bra, "I want you to work for me."

  
"I just did?" You quirked a brow at his steady stare, "you know I can't be on the payroll."

  
"Not here," he shook his head, "I want you to be one of my girls, I'll treat you right."

  
Simultaneously, your stomach lurched and your temper flared. "You're a pimp? No," you said firmly. You cut him off before he tried to speak again, raising a hand for emphasis, "if you don't want me to work here, then I won't come here again, but I will never, ever, be a hooker." _Especially not for you, asshole,_ went unspoken.  You would drop him like a hot potato just for being a pimp but you didn't have anyone else to fall back on for work right now.

  
He bristled, face reddening, and you took a step back, prepared to bolt. "Listen bitch, I-" his fierce whisper faltered as his eyes flickered behind you, brows knitting together as he straightened up. "Get the fuck off my property and don't come back," he staid stiffly, the color draining from his no-longer-livid face.

  
Jack grinned and lowered his SHIELD badge that he was waggling at the idiot through his window. _That belongs to me_ , he thought, _just try fucking with me. Please._ He had already rolled up his window and was driving off when you turned around to storm away from Michael, fully unaware of the exchange that happened.

  
With all this new information he had, Jack was practically glowing with pleasure as he resumed monitoring her from a distance. This girl was vulnerable, easy pickings, and he was going to take full, terrible advantage of that fact. Though there were some logistics to figure out, he eyed her thoughtfully as she entered a public library, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. A stop at the nearby grocery store was in order, it was likely she would be in there for a while.

  
You sighed as you sunk into a bean bag chair inside the library, the tension flowing out of you as you dug out your book. Greywalker series, the fourth book. The librarian who often shared her lunch with you recommended it after you spent an inordinate amount of time trying to find a new series after The Wheel of Time and you were enjoying yourself thoroughly so far.

  
Unfortunately you soon realized the only librarians on duty today were ones who either gave you the stink eye or politely ignored your presence. At least you would be able to buy yourself a meal while your laundry was cycling in the laundromat. There was no chance you were going back to that neighborhood for a day or two, you were still spooked. You tried to analyze the feeling, why you were so nervous after that encounter, but you couldn't pin it down.

  
Shaking off your meandering thoughts, you focused on the book and dug in.

  
Exiting the library with the next book of the series at the bottom of your backpack, a burst of color immediately drew your eye. An orange was sitting on the concrete ledge at the base of the stairs and a glance revealed no one else around. Without thinking twice, you casually walked by and plucked it up like you owned it, who were you to deny offerings?

  
As you peeled it and walked towards the laundromat, nervous tension began to fill you. It was just food, but it was reminding you of the orange you pilfered from the health food nuts house and your brows furrowed together at the thought. If your eyes scanned the area around you a little more critically than before, you made sure to keep it low key.

  
Jack saw the second she got nervous, felt a flush of pleasure at the observation even, watching her head turn this way and that, her stride lengthening and pace quickening. _That's right,_ he thought, _get antsy, sweetheart._

  
You couldn't identify anything out of the ordinary during your trip to the laundromat and then the diner, but your legs were bouncing under the table as you ate your pulled pork sandwich and drank hot coffee, itching to run. What was going on? He couldn't have found you, there was literally no scrap of documentation that showed you existed after you left and your library card had a fake name on it to boot.

  
Sometimes you would start to panic about being found, becoming an anxiety riddled heap for a few days before you settled down and realized you were as safe as you could get.  Maybe this wasn't about the health nut and the orange was just a coincidence.  Would you ever truly feel safe again? You sighed as you collected your toasty laundry from the dryer and shoved it into your backpack, maybe someday.

  
Jack squeezed the steering wheel, imagining it was her slender neck between his merciless fingers, giving him some much needed temporary catharsis.

 


	13. What's An Orange To You? 4 (Reader/Rollins)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No AU  
> Thief!Reader, Hydra!Rollins  
> TAGS: Stalking, impending doom, intimidation, mindfuck, fearmongering  
> Summary: Jack is eager to get past the stalking phase of the fun and Reader feels strongly that something is wrong all while trying to convince herself that is not the case.

Something _was_ going on, you were not imagining this. And, as you sat on a bench in a local park pretending to read your book, you thought you might have identified the source of your paranoia. A black SUV was sitting in the parking lot nearby, partly visible.

 

This would not have drawn your attention normally but when you made to cross a street earlier you barely stepped back in time when you heard an engine being gunned and a black SUV tore through the space you would have been occupying were you slightly less quick on the draw. You didn't get the license plate, too busy being stunned, but you couldn't exactly file a report anyways.  


Now, though, you were beginning to think a little harder about what you saw while walking around. Was it paranoia that was putting the vehicle at the edge of your senses, a black shape that hung back and around every corner? A shiver of fear ran through you as you eyed it from afar, head tilted down towards the pages that you were slowly flipping through and not reading.

 

You could go up there, take a look, confront the driver maybe. Sure, so you could get menaced with a gun and kidnapped or accused of being a crazy hobo and have the cops called on you, you thought bitterly. No, you just needed to confirm that this person was actually following you and this all wasn't a product of an overactive imagination and anxiety.

 

If he was following you, well, you'd have to lose him somehow. If it was a he. If you were being followed.

 

Chewing on your lip, you clapped the book shut, closed your eyes, tilted your head back and let out a huge, tired sigh. Putting the book back in your backpack, you stood up and walked purposefully towards the opposite side of the park. If that SUV showed up again, you'd know.  


_Dammit, she knows,_ Jack thought. He had hoped to follow from the comfort of his vehicle for the whole duration of this hunt, but he supposed even this blind kid could do some basic math. Still, he thought as he stirred the SUV to life and checked google for the nearest car park, it could be fun to see how close he could get to her in person.

 

Little Bo Peep the orange thief would find Agent Jack Rollins more than up for any challenges she could put down. He smirked, adjusting himself at the thought of getting so close to her he could smell her shampoo, all while she had no idea the wolf was right there. He sighed then, knowing this part of the game could only last for so long, he did have a job after all.  


After a while you determined there was no SUV following you, and you were paying very close attention at this point. In a huff, you power walked towards the Lincoln Memorial. Lots of people around to make you feel insulated and you could visit some of the free admission museums. It had been a while since you went to the Museum of Natural History, in particular.  


You didn't bank on seeing happy couples and families making you feel upset, though. You ended up with your eyes downcast, fighting back the stinging sensation in them as you walked alongside the reflecting pool, heading towards the museum.  


While she was walking fast, Jack still had to modulate his steps to a sort of wandering saunter with the occasional long stride to keep an even distance between himself and the target. So she was a thief of culture, he smirked at that. As soon as she passed the pool he closed the distance considerably, no longer worried about reflections giving him away. The sun was at a good angle too, his shadow would never fall over her.

 

What would she do if she saw him, he wondered? Bolt like a spooked hare? Confront him? He chuckled softly, that one was doubtful. Making hard men piss themselves was a specialty of his.  


It seemed as though your miserable disposition was naturally warding away other people, who parted from your path in a way you had never experienced before, like you took up more space than usual. It was kind of nice, actually. You entered the Museum of Natural History fully intending to have a long drink from a fountain and to make good use of the washroom facilities, on top of actually perusing the place.

 

Jack hung back a bit, ensuring she wouldn't see him in the glass, before smoothly stalking after her and getting set up in the building.  


After a quick trip to the washroom, you stood in front of a map of the facility and decided where to go first. There wasn't even a question, to be honest, you made for the second floor and beelined towards the butterfly exhibit.  


Butterflies. Of course. Jack practically rolled his eyes when he entered the room a minute after her.  


You felt your sadness and frustration melt away as soon as you entered the brightly lit, thickly humid room, with its colorful raised gardens and their inhabitants fluttering about. The soothing music helped too. Skimming a hand along a wooden ledge, you circled around one of the formations and leaned in to look closely at a butterfly that was a striking blue.  


A butterfly colliding with your face made you jump in startlement before calming. Your vision was obscured by large wings, its feet tickling your nose as it perched there. A few people pointed and even took pictures, which would normally worry you, but all you could feel was happy. Smiling, you crossed your eyes and took a look at the pattern and color, pale yellow with black, zebra-like stripes, a pretty one in your opinion.

 

"Kinda matches your dress. Cute," a man said.  


"It does, doesn't it?" You smiled wide, turning towards the voice, the expression freezing on your face when the wings folded up and revealed a person familiar to you.  


Jack smiled down at her. As soon as he saw her with that stupid bug on her face, looking cute and edible, his feet took over and now he was standing there, revealed. This was it. What would she do? "Small world," he remarked slyly.  


Your chest was doing funny things, clenching so tight you could barely breathe. You may have squeaked. Swallowing hard while he raised an eyebrow, you tried again, "yeah," you said, voice weak. The butterfly flew away.  


"That settles it," he held his hands up slightly, palms out, "come to the cafe with me? My treat." He wanted to watch her squirm like a fish on a hook, to come to the realization she was caught. He'd pay for that pleasure any time.  


You could decline. Should decline. But you were stuck, weren't you? This man wasn't necessarily a bad person, this could be a coincidence, but you weren't so sure you were imagining the veiled hostility in his seemingly friendly expression and posture. "Sure," you blurted after an uncomfortable beat or two.

 

 _Be aware of him isolating you_ , you warned yourself as he turned and gestured for you to walk with him with an easy grace. If he stuck to just taking you to the cafe, it was fine. This was fine. His intimidating stature dwarfed you as you fell in beside him. Maybe that was it? You were wary of large men, it was true.

 

"Do you live here?" He asked as you reached the stairs and made your way downwards. "Don't normally see locals visiting the museums more than once or twice."

 

"Yeah, but I like them. They are always adding new exhibits and updating, and it's good free entertainment," you warmed to the topic, trying to be subtle about wiping your sweaty palms off on your sides.

 

He could practically taste the nervousness. The second he saw the butterfly land on her face and her big eyes go huge with suppressed fright when she saw him, he had to think of Mrs. Diaz naked and do some calm breathing. Jack didn't often get the urge to fuck and kill at the exact same time, but there he was. "Me too," he lied easily, guiding her towards the cafe with a gesture once they were out of the stairwell. "Ever had any of the coffee at this place?"  


It was busy down here, you were grateful for that, but still felt oddly trapped. You don't just bump into strangers repeatedly after weird things have happened, you felt strongly there was a connection here and it was making your stomach hurt you were so nervous. It didn't help that this guy was attractive too, his smile transformed his face and was disarming, his voice calming.  


"I have not," you admitted as you walked into the cafe with him, getting in line. Your eyes bugged at the prices when you looked up, if he wasn't paying for it you would've walked out right then and there. Damn tourist trap prices. "Any of these you prefer?"  


"Nah, just pick whatever sounds interesting," he smirked, shuffling forwards steadily in the line.  


"Right," you murmured, clasping your hands nervously at your front and casting your eyes anywhere but the man beside you. When it came time to order, you chose a Mochaccino, the bastard child of hot chocolate and coffee.  


If he didn't know her age, he definitely would have pinned her as a teenager, with the dress, the backpack, the drink choice. Were she not successfully living under the radar and already avoiding pursuers, he would make the blanket assumption that she was just a useless tit of a girl. It was a compelling disguise. He ordered himself a Caffe Americano.

 

Drinks in hand, he insisted on carrying them both, they ended up wandering outside to sit at a bench. There he doled out the drinks and kicked out his legs, playing at being relaxed while his mood began to swing back from horny and angry to just seething hatred angry. "Tell me about yourself," he said, once he realized she was going to be silent the entire time if he gave her the chance.

 

"Oh," you said, redirecting your stare back to him as you nervously clasped your paper cup. "My name is Anise, I'm a PA here in D.C.," a familiar lie, you'd sold it plenty of times before and there was certainly no chance of this guy being in the medical field to call your bullshit.

 

"Anise huh? Nice name," he remarked, eyes lidding as he stared her down.  


You gulped as his friendly demeanor seemed to freeze over from one second to the next and you began to breathe shallowly at the revelation, hiding your mouth behind your drink as you took a sip. "How about you?" You said, wondering how you could have missed such tightly controlled rage. The man was _seething,_ the veins running up his arms and in his forehead were beginning to stand out, his blood rising to a boil.

 

"Jack," he took a sip of his drink and tilted his head slightly, placing it back down, "Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division." He didn't normally pull out the full title, but he didn't want the short form to fly over her head either, he wanted to see the look on her face and savor it.  


"S-so you're a badass then?" You stuttered, corners of your eyes crinkling with a weak smile that you kept hidden behind the cup. Inside, you were panicking. Could he possibly have contacts that high up in government? There was no way, you didn't want to believe it. This guy was the physical definition of _Enforcement._

 

"Only on work days," his lips curled into a tight smile, "on the weekends I like to relax and enjoy a cheat day meal or two. Pretty strict diet to maintain this," he gave his chest a pat with a big paw. There, he said it. It couldn't be more obvious now than if he had bludgeoned her over the head with it.

 

It clicked. Oh God, it clicked. Gasping shallowly, you let out a whimper as he leaned in and you leaned back.  


"Go ahead and run, Bo Peep," he leered then, his expression mirroring the black hatred that had been simmering in him since he realized his orange had been stolen, his home broken into. His hand, flat on the tabletop, clenched into a warning fist when you made to stand up. "Finish your drink," he said firmly.

 

Lowering back down, you realized he was being subtle enough to not draw any attention. Not good, not good. One crazy stalker was more than enough for you, thank you. Taking a deep breath, you held it for a few seconds and let it out slowly before having another sip of your drink. "It was just an orange," you said, voice soft and placating, "I don't take anything but food."  


"Save it," he said bluntly, taking another gulp of his drink, "you're going to tell me all about it later."  


You pursed your lips and shook your head, trying to find your courage. "I'm not going anywhere with you," you said.  


"The chase is half the fun," he licked his lips and eyed her like a snack.  


Closing your eyes tightly to fight off the tears that threatened, you couldn't look at him. "I don't do it for pleasure, I do it for survival."  


"You'll tell me all about it later," he repeated simply. _You'll scream it_ , he thought, _and I'll definitely be doing it for pleasure._  


That was it. He couldn't attack you here, not in public, you weren't going to be scared stiff while he sat there and threatened you. You stood up sharply and ignored his look of warning, turned and walked away as fast as you could without it looking like running, leaving your drink behind.

 

You had to get home. You swiped angry tears from your eyes. Home was safe, you could think of what to do from there after you'd curled up under your blanket like a frightened child and cried.  How could this be happening over an _orange_ _?_

 


	14. What's An Orange To You? 5 (Reader/Rollins)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No AU  
> Thief!Reader, Hydra!Rollins  
> TAGS: Stalking, drugging, abduction, physical assault, mentioned past abuse, creepy sexual behavior, captivity, humiliation - oh yeah these tags are getting real now  
> Summary: Jack closes in for the kill and Reader is greeted with a new, harsher reality.

Once you felt you'd gone far enough away that you couldn't see him or that damned SUV anywhere, you managed to get into a public washroom and change over to your more practical clothes and shoes. From there, you just about ran all the way back to the woods, frantic to feel safe. As soon as you were through the field and running along your small path, tears began to pour freely and you heaved sob after sob.  
  


Jack had a long stride to begin with and no one blinked twice at a big fit guy jogging along either. After he threw out the syrupy mess of a drink she left and finished off his joyless black coffee, he made quick work of the distance between him and the car park where his vehicle was. Even if she ran all the way back to her squat, he had plenty of time.  
  


It was only mid-day by the time you half ran, half climbed your way up the mossy slope leading to the shack. The increased lighting and your lowered position were the only two reasons why you saw something that did not fit in with the scenery under your stairs. You froze, staring at what looked like some kind of small, black plastic box.  
  


Getting air back in your lungs was hard, but forcing yourself to move towards the stairs was harder. On shaky legs you knelt down and grasped the box, covering your mouth with one hand as you pulled it up and looked it over. You didn't know what this thing was, but you did know what it meant: he had to have been here.  
  


Whimpering and crying like a wounded animal, you got up and flung yourself inside, putting the box on the table and frantically grabbing up your old garbage bags. You needed to pack up and leave before he came back. God, he could already be on the trail! He did have a vehicle. You would go a different way, just to be safe.  
  


When you stood up and turned to grasp the lantern in your hands your gaze locked with Jacks, who was staring at you from eye level with a terrifying, hard expression through the dirt caked window. You screamed shrilly and dropped the lantern, darting for the door, grabbing the handle and bracing your foot against the wall to try and hold it shut.  
  


He laughed, leaning against the window frame and watching you. "Planning on going somewhere, Peep?"  
  


"Go away," your shoulders shook and your head tilted forwards, eyes shut tight, willing him to disappear.

 

"I don't think so," his tone shifted, soft but heavy with threat, "how did it taste?" His footsteps solidly choreographed his path along the side of the shack, crunching dead leaves and sticks until they thunked against the rotting wood.  
  


He was directly in front of you, looming behind that door.

 

The question threw you, but the sound of him closing in made you redouble your effort to hold the door shut. "How did what taste?" You sniffed loudly.  
  


"My. Fucking. ORANGE!" He roared, punching through the door and hitting her shoulder hard, making her cry out and her bracing foot fall to the floor as she full body cringed from the pain. His hand grasped the edge of the hole, his other the handle, and he ripped the door clean off its hinges in his rage. The wood snapping apart was incredibly loud.  
  


Stumbling backwards, you held your hand up defensively, the arm connected to your injured shoulder curled inwards to your chest, as he threw the door away and charged in after you, face twisted into a snarl and fists clenched. "Stop!" You cried.

 

Launching forwards explosively, he shoved her down hard, the sound of her body crashing into the wood especially satisfying. He caught her ankles easily when she kicked up at him and knelt down, pinning her knees to her heaving chest between his legs and settling his weight against the back of her thighs.

 

He leaned over her and delivered a slap that was just harsh enough to sting and daze, more sound than substance. "You've never earned anything in your life _thief_ , except for this." He reached into his back pocket then, making sure she saw the movement.  
  


"Please stop," you begged, voice small and scared, unable to draw in a full breath with his weight on you as it was. When he withdrew a syringe and wiggled it at you teasingly for a second before popping the cap off and squeezing a small amount of liquid out, you tried to grab for it but he batted your hand away and held it down beside your head.  
  


"Better get used to begging, Peep," he sneered as he leaned in and jabbed her neck with the needle, feeling a rush of power as he thumbed the plunger down and watched her labored struggling quickly fade into unconsciousness. Once she was limp and pliable, he tossed her over his shoulder, grabbing her backpack and the motion tracker with his free hand, stomping out of the shack and grunting in annoyance when the wood gave in under his foot.  
  


"Ah! AH!" You spluttered awake violently, kicking your legs and throwing your arms as you choked and coughed, icy water covering you head to toe. Ice cubes clattered to the floor at your sides and slid off your legs.

 

"There you are," Jack said in a casual tone, watching her come to and setting aside the bucket. When she realized her hands were bound behind her back and her big eyes looked up at him with pure terror, he couldn't help but give her a shark-toothed grin. "Sorry about the accommodations," he gestured around at the basement, "don't have any interrogation rooms handy."  
  


A wheeze escaped you as you looked around, eyes flicking rapidly over what really was a completely normal looking basement. Washer, dryer, laundry hamper, a work bench with tools neatly hung on the wall above it, your neck was too sore to fully turn to see what was behind you, but what was in front of you was a far more pressing matter anyway. "What are you going to do to me?" You croaked.

 

The slap he delivered sounded like a thunderclap in the enclosed space and the way her head bounced off the steel structural support beam she was tied against was pleasing, the fresh rush of tears cutting through the water on her face even more so. "If I decide to ask a question, you will answer it. Until then? Don't say a word," he said, flexing his fists to punctuate the threat.  
  


Your lips clamped shut, wriggling and wobbling as your head rang. Chills had you shaking and coming to the painful realization that you were already stripped down to your underwear and bra. You sobbed as his fist clenched in your wet hair.

 

"Get up," he said, all business as he yanked her to her feet, preferring to hear her hiss and moan instead of giving her a second to actually comply. "Do you remember the pie you stole, a few doors down from here?"

 

"Yeah," you said, leaning your weight against the uncomfortable metal at your back while your legs twitched and shook. What the hell did the pie have anything to do with this?  
  


"That's good, I bet it tasted great," he patted her cheek firmly, enjoyed the cringe as she anticipated a blow instead, before straightening up and standing at her side. "This is for Mrs. Diaz and her pie," he grinned right before kicking her solidly in the side of the knee, sending her collapsing to the concrete floor with a howl of pain. Nothing broken, he was sure of it, but it would swell and hurt like a bitch. "Was it worth it?" He growled.

 

Your knees curled to your chest and you pressed your face into the one that wasn't hurting. Your whole body hurt, it felt like you'd been hit by a truck and then tossed into a paint mixer and left to rattle. The rope around your wrists didn't budge when you tried to get some relief from the strained position.

 

He squatted in front of her. "Was it worth it, Peep?" He repeated with warning in his tone.  
  


"No," you muttered miserably.

 

Shaking a finger at her, he grinned before standing back up. "I bet you're thirsty. That knockout juice always leaves you with cotton mouth." He turned away and grabbed a tall travel mug from off the stairs, bringing it over and screwing the lid off, slowly waving the contents by her head as though to entice her to look. She did, and her grimace made the whole idea worth it.  
  


"What's the matter, not sugary enough?" He sneered, shoving his palm into her forehead and forcing her head back against the beam with a metallic clunk and a hiss of pain from her. Without further warning, he pinched her nose shut and waited, poised for the gasp.

 

It didn't take long, the second you gasped you felt the metal press against your bottom lip and firm pressure forcing your mouth open as it tilted and the most disgusting textured thing you ever tasted slid down your gullet. Dark green and slimy, it tasted all kinds of unpleasant and you gagged, green trails pouring out the corners of your mouth.

 

He needed to add these things to the regular torture routine, that was awesome. There was nothing quite as pleasing as forcing your own suffering on someone else, he realized. He gave her a second to recover so she wouldn't actually vomit, but resumed pouring the rest down her throat right after. "Not so nice huh? That's what I eat every morning, Peep. Imagine how much I was looking forward to that orange."  
  


It sat in your stomach, heavy and vile, and you swallowed at the saliva flooding your mouth, trying to keep it down because God knew what he would do if you projectile vomited his green slurry slime all over him. Panting, you recovered and finally fell still.  
  


He put the mug back on the stairs and then took to pacing around her slowly, pausing intermittently. Let her get worked up, wondering what came next. The ice cubes were melting and leaving her sitting in a continually icy cold puddle too, they were a nice touch. "Who were you running from," he paused, smirking, "before me?"

 

"M-my father," you stuttered, trying to fight off your chattering teeth. On one hand, telling him meant he was going to know how trapped you were, on the other, he might just beat you to death for not saying anything, or lying if he already knew the answer. If he really was a part of a government agency that sounded like it did shady things, he probably did know.

 

"Oh yeah? Your father a cop?" He leaned on the pole, letting his leg touch at her shoulder, watching her shake and cringe and chatter.  
  


"Yes," you said.  
  


"So when I'm done with you, should I just go ahead and deliver you back to daddy?" He grinned wickedly, then went stone faced when she froze up. "You really think he's worse than me, Peep?" He had the good grace to be offended.  
  


You chewed on it, the answer wasn't going to work in your favor no matter what. "Yes," you spat what you thought was honestly true, lips twinging when you felt a split pulling open. Unlike Jack, you had the dubious benefit of living with that monster most of your life, after all.  
  


"Well he didn't beat you, not bad anyway," he remarked, strolling around until he was standing in front of her again, giving her a critical look. He'd already inspected her while undressing her and found her skin to be almost perfectly without damage, oddly enough, but this was part of the show. She was to know that her worth was somewhere in the area of furniture to him. "Did he fuck you?"  
  


"No." To his surprise, you growled the word at him, teeth clenched and partly bared.  
  


"But I was close," he smirked, crossing his arms, "he threatened to?" He was just spitballing now, seeing if he could rile her up and gleefully punish her for it.  
  


"He is a pimp," you admitted, closing your eyes and drooping in shame.  
  


"So what," he chuckled, sitting on the stairs and stretching his legs out, "his daughter gets old enough and he wants to add you to the roster all the sudden, so you skip town?"

 

"Something like that," you said. It was actually exactly like that but you didn't want to admit to him just how astute he was, it was unnerving.  
  


He shook his head. "You avoided him for four years so far," he smirked when her eyes snapped open and she looked at him in surprise. Oh, he knew alright, Jack always did his homework. "I found you with a piece of hair, do you realize that? Do you honestly think that little bike incident was actually an accident?" He mocked, but he wasn't going to outright brag of his exploits to make her realize who was the worse option here. Actions spoke louder than words after all and he was very much a man of action.

 

You curled in on yourself when he stood back up and approached quickly, boots displacing water with wet smacks. "Legs down," he ordered while shoving at them roughly with his boot, smearing liquid and dirt across your skin. Hissing in pain when he put pressure on your discoloring knee, you lowered your legs as ordered and stared up at him warily.  
  


"Truth is," he said, admiring the dirty, disheveled look she was sporting, "I know everything I care to know about you. This is purely punishment for you and entertainment for me." He licked his lips as he raised his foot and pressed it directly under her belly button, putting firm pressure on her bladder. He was getting a clearer picture of this girl and, predator he was, he liked what he saw. Corrupting innocence wasn't exactly something you got to do in his line of work, HYDRA operative or not, and his cock stirred at the thought.

 

He grinned broader when she started to squirm in discomfort, eyes widening in alarm. Her face was flushed from the cold and increased heart rate, and there was a faint imprint of his hand there too. Watching her struggle to not raise her hands and try to pry his foot off was also doing things to him, apparently. She was making low, distressed noises when he finally paused in his pressing. "Need to piss, huh?" He teased.  
  


"Yes," you said raggedly, desperately trying to hold it in but the big bastard was making it hard. You were one firm push away from soiling yourself and losing whatever dignity you had left. His foot pulled away and you squeaked in surprise when he lunged down and grabbed your face, yanking you up to your feet and into the air to be level with him.

 

Turning her face to the side, he pressed his up against her until his short scruff was scratching, his nose bending as it dug into the hair above her ear. He ignored her hands reaching up and clinging to his forearm, she wasn't struggling. Licking a stripe from her jaw to her eye, tasting salt and water, he spoke into her ear. Husky with lust, he practically growled her name, felt her full body shiver in response, "you're going to earn everything you get from here on out."  
  


Slamming her back down to her feet, he enjoyed watching her hurt knee buckle and hearing her pained cry. Turning and walking up the stairs, he called back to her, "if you can get out of that rope, you can use the washroom. If you can't, I'm going to make you lick your piss off the floor." He shut the door behind him and smiled in grim satisfaction at the sharp sob that followed.

 


	15. What's An Orange To You? 6 (Reader/Rollins *)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No AU  
> Thief!Reader, Hydra!Rollins  
> TAGS: RAPE, humiliation, captivity, coercion, enslavement/subjugation  
> Summary: A picture of what Reader's captivity will be like begins to form, moving forward.

Desperation had you swallowing down your tears and struggling to your feet in short order, you would not in a million years lick piss off a floor, you would sooner saw your hands off on this rope. Twisting and jerking at the ropes behind you, you grit your teeth and folded your thumbs into your palm and began to pull and twist, leaning forwards hard. Worrying about the nature of your captivity and what you were going to do to escape it was for later, the immediate goal was to relieve your urgent need to piss.

 

Jack lay sprawled across his large, plush couch, flipping through his phone idly. The sobbing, faint heaves of breath that carried up through the floor died down faster than he thought it would, to her credit. Now he listened to the sometimes rhythmic and other times frantic clinking of the steel pole she was bound against.  
  


She could get out of it, he knew it for certain. He did a poor job on the knotting on purpose. For a man who did nothing but dirty work, Jack wasn't very interested in having refuse on his floors. If she failed, her stay, and life, would be far shorter. Couldn't mold her into something useful if she wasn't built of sterner stuff, after all. Order through pain.

 

He timed it. A solid 15 minutes passed and after a few desperate, angry-sounding cries, there was awkward thumping up the basement stairs. It took her maybe 4 minutes to get up the stairs, which he smirked at, eyes flicking up from his phone when she opened the basement door and came urgently limping into his view, rope hanging off of one wrist.

 

"Upstairs, end of the hall," he said simply, keeping his voice and expression flat. He did not imagine the tiny groan that she suppressed at the news of more stairs. Her wrists were bloody and raw, he saw as she hastily limped past. In fact, she was covered in bruises which sent a possessive flush through him that rammed right into his cock.  
  


Keeping your hurt leg straight, you crawled up the stairs with your good leg and both hands as fast as you could, panting more from the effort of keeping your muscles tensed enough to contain your bursting bladder. You bounced off the wall twice on your way to the bathroom and couldn't hold back a gasp of pained relief when your ass hit the toilet. You didn't even close the door behind you.  
  


Jack was doing some thinking. It was too late at night to get started with the general shape of a plan he had begun to form in his head, so tonight would be simple. He waited and listened to the toilet flushing, the sink running and then the silence as she stood up there and obviously started wondering how to escape.  
  


After a few minutes she came limping down, coming to stand at the edge of the living room like a scared cat, eyes on every part of the room but him. She had obviously splashed her face with water, as it was free of dirt trails and her eyes weren't so puffy and red anymore.

 

"Go back to the basement and stay there," he said after letting her shift in discomfort and wring her hands together nervously for a minute or two. As soon as she started moving to comply he added, "or." She paused. "You can escape. Run out that front door, screaming like a banshee and hoping someone will call the cops." The corner of his mouth wedged upwards sharply. "Well, if you think you can make it out the door."  
  


_Sick bastard,_ you thought with a spike of anger and fear. He knew damn well the cops were not your allies, that unless you could escape him and get back to hiding out there, there was nothing to be done but to comply and pray for mercy that didn't exist. You sniffed and shook your head, eyes downcast. "No. I will go to the basement," you said simply, starting to cautiously limp your way there while keeping as much space between yourself and him as possible.   
  


His chuckle sent a cold trickle down your spine.

 

Closing the basement door behind you, you shuffled down one step at a time on your butt. You left the light on, as there were no windows to speak of. If he didn't like it, he could turn it off himself, you thought. Trying to avoid the water puddle at the bottom proved fruitless and you ended up grabbing a mop and pushing the cold, mucky water to the drain built into the cement floor.

 

You also finally got to see what was behind you previously. A neatly arrayed assortment of exercise equipment, primarily a bench for doing bench presses, a rack of weights and a few huge kettlebells. On the bench lay your backpack and you stopped yourself from rushing over to it to see if your clothes were inside, it felt like a trap.

 

Sheer exhaustion hit you like a truck then, emotional, physical, all of it. Your body was ravaged and your mind a complete anxious wreck, the only thing you could consider doing right now was sleeping. Aside from the bench only one other place looked even remotely palatable. With some difficulty and the help of the washing machine, you stole a dirty shirt out of the laundry hamper and put it on like a nightgown and then proceeded to lower yourself into it.

 

A nest of dirty laundry probably wasn't the worst place you ever slept, all things considered, your body heat was warming it up nice and fast. Your eyes shut shortly after you curled into a fetal position and blocked the light by putting a few stinky clothes on your head.

 

When morning came Jack woke up and breezed through his usual routine, feeling particularly pleased until he had to choke down his breakfast, then he was back to simmering anger. By the time he opened the basement door and trudged downstairs, he thought for half a second that she might have actually escaped in the night. As his feet hit the dry floor and he looked around from his spot at the base of the stairs, he quickly changed his mind.

 

Her backpack was still there and untouched, for one. Secondly, she actually mopped the goddamn floor and third, the dirty laundry snorted and moved. Amused, he crept over and peered inside. Her hair stuck out at odd angles from under a pair of his jeans but she was otherwise obscured. He took a minute to think about how he was going to wake her up, a slow smile spreading across his face.  
  


A startled gasp escaped you as your warm, comfortable world tumbled over, cold air and the pain of all your bruising being jostled instantly waking you. Half spilled to the floor, you registered the sharp tang of old sweat and musky man smell all around you before a pair of jeans was tugged off your head and you saw Jack glaring down at you.

 

"You disgust me. Get up," he said, giving her a firm kick through the pile of clothes she was under when she didn't move fast enough, eliciting a pained moan. As she stumbled to her feet, he realized she was wearing one of his dark shirts, the extra fabric draping over her slender form like a dress, and he clenched his fists to keep them to himself. _Soon_ , he thought.

 

Shivering and hunching, you stood before him and crossed one arm over your front, grasping at the opposite shoulder defensively. Looking up from his bare feet, over his loose pants and up his carved torso, you saw the lust written on his face and with a little surge of terror began to pull his shirt off, understanding what the image of you in his shirt was evoking in him.  
  


"Leave it on," he growled, deep from his chest, before sharply pointing at the tipped over hamper and the mess of clothes. "Do my laundry."  He paused, seeing the rope still bunched around her one wrist before grabbing it and undoing it quickly, freeing her to continue as he tossed the bloodied rope aside.  
  


Nodding and gulping nervously, you turned and began to roughly gather as many clothes as you could hold in your arms and awkwardly fumble with the front of the washer until it was open and you were stuffing the stale clothes inside it, trying not to think about how his hands were just on you.  Was this bastard intending to make you some kind of maid that he could abuse at his leisure? Your stomach twisted at the thought, especially when you took into account all the undisguised lust he was firing in your direction.  
  


He sauntered away and tossed her backpack off the bench, adjusting the weights on the bar accordingly and laying down to get started. Couldn't let the fact he had a captive get in the way of his exercise routine, after all. He watched her work from the corner of his eye, acutely aware of his partially tented pants chafing uncomfortably while he began working through his reps.

 

Unfortunately for her, he had an idea.  
  


Measuring out laundry detergent and pouring it in, you shut the door with a slam and were about to press the button when he called out to you with a grunt. "Put your clothes in there too. All of them."

 

Your sore eyes stung and you swiped the shirt sleeve over them harshly. Turning from the washing machine, you hobbled over to your backpack and tugged out your dress and underthings, pointedly not looking at his flexing muscles and...other flexing parts. Beet red, you shuffled back to the washer and stuffed your clothes in, hesitating a moment too long for his tastes.  
  


"I said all of them," he said, voice husky.  
  


Feeling so pathetically weak, you let out a little sob and went about removing your panties and bra, the shirt thankfully covering your business but it was the suggestion of where this was going and the fact he had all the control in the world over you that was the upsetting part. Closing the door, you leaned on it and hung your head as you hit the start button.

 

"Come over," he huffed as he pushed the weight upwards, veins beginning to stand out along his arms as his blood flow increased. Waiting until she was standing nearby, hands clenching and unclenching at the edge of his shirt and standing about as far away from his cock as possible while still listening to what he said, he grinned. "Two choices."

 

Your shoulders fell and you closed your eyes.

 

"Suck my cock or pick up that 56kg kettlebell and hold it. You do either of those successfully," he huffed, shoving the bar upwards as an aggressive flood of adrenaline filled him at the thought, "you can have breakfast."  
  


You all but ran to the kettlebell, just like he knew you would.  
  


56kg, you did the math in your head as you identified the kettlebell and grasped its handle with both hands. 124lbs, you were pretty sure you weighed less than that, not that you were keeping track, what with the starvation diet and all. "How long do I have to hold it?" You said, dreading the answer.  
  


"Until I'm done," he grunted.

 

You'd do anything, including find your inner weight lifter, to not touch that man's body. So, without thought of the consequences of failure, you took a breath and lifted with all your might. With a strained cry, you pulled it to your chest and held it in both arms, desperate to keep your grip as you stumbled backwards a few steps.  
  


He grew fully hard in seconds listening to her struggle.  His normal routine was at least a solid half hour. She didn't stand a chance.  
  


Whimpering and taking huffing, panting breaths, you leaned backwards and tried to lock your legs, resting the majority of the weight on your hips instead of in your trembling and quickly failing arms.

 

"Hold it properly," he said with sadistic glee, "hands on the handle," the weights clinked as he shoved them upwards, "at your waist." Sure, he could let her struggle for a little while but his patience was running thin, this was making him unbearably horny.

 

"I-" you gasped, trying to comply and nearly dropping it as you shifted the weight around. It hung between your legs and your fingers were slowly slipping, despite holding them like your life depended on it. "I can't," you said in a high-pitched sob as your back began to bend forwards against your will.

 

"I know," he said.

 

It was your knee that gave out first, the kettlebell hitting the concrete with a loud clank as you fell down to a kneeling position behind it. The second it hit the ground, you heard Jack rack the weight. Stumbling up to your feet in a panic, you turned and made for the stairs in a limping run made all the more desperate when you got a look at him before your head fully turned. Green eyes blown black, face twisted in anger and muscles taut from the workout and adrenaline, he looked terrifying.  
  


In an easy three strides he was on her, scruffing her like a puppy and dragging her, now screaming, towards the dryer. Throwing her over it and letting out a groan as her ass and cunt were exposed from her legs flailing, he pinned her down with a hand at the small of her back and leaned forwards to turn the empty dryer on, just because he had the wild, horny idea to try it.

 

When he freed his steely cock from his pants it took every last ounce of will he had to not bury himself inside her, but to shove his shirt up her back and press between her tight ass cheeks instead. Her cries were mostly drowned out by both the machines running and he'd be damned if the vibrations from the dryer didn't feel awesome as he began to rut wildly against her, pressing hard and grunting at the friction while he held her down with one hand and one of her thighs in an iron grip with the other.  
  


You alternated between trying to tuck your face away in shame, kicking wildly and grasping at the edge of the dryer to try and crawl forwards and away. His cock felt like molten lead against your skin, frighteningly large and completely violating as he thrust towards completion, his balls slapping against your cunt and the vibrations of the dryer giving you confusing and disturbing pleasure.

 

"You're wet," he blurted. He could feel it, hot moisture against his balls, and he nearly came on the spot at the revelation. Instead, he dragged his cock, leaking like a faucet, between her flexing ass cheeks roughly enough that it bordered on pain for him, slamming her legs and hips into the dryer so hard it jostled. A few more thrusts like that and he came with a shout, leaning over her and pinning her down with his body while his cock jerked and spurted his load on her back.  
  


She was still beneath him, only her shoulders twitching with her labored crying, too quiet to hear over all the machines. Panting into her lank hair, he reached up and turned the dryer off before pressing his mouth to her ear, voice gravelly, "go take a shower. Don't put my shirt back on."

 

As soon as he leaned his weight off you, you gasped for the air he had squished out of you, emotions and thoughts spiraling off in a panicked rush to process everything that just happened, what was happening and what was going to happen. "What will I wear?" You asked in a daze as he tugged you off the dryer and to your feet, his cum sliding down your ass and dribbling down your thighs.

 

"Nothing you don't earn," he growled down at you, stroking his cock in his fist and wringing out the last of his cum onto his hand. He then wiped it across the shirt you were wearing, grinning meanly at the look.

 


	16. What's An Orange To You? 7 (Reader/Rollins *)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No AU  
> Thief!Reader, Hydra!Rollins  
> TAGS: RAPE, captivity, enslavement/subjugation, grooming/manipulation, desperation  
> Summary: Day 1. Reader can't give up hope yet.

As he stepped away and went back to his bench to resume working out, like he'd just taken a quick breather instead of humping himself to completion on your ass, you vaguely became aware that you were breathing like you ran a marathon and were shaking head to toe. Haltingly, you made your way to the stairs and painstakingly climbed up them, feeling cooling liquid congealing on the back of your exposed legs all the while.

You couldn't say how long it took you to get to the bathroom, to close yourself in the shower and turn it on, but you came to somewhere around the time you realized you just couldn't get _clean._ A miserable sound clawed its way out of you and you sat down. How were you going to escape before he raped you for real, before you were turned into a husk of a person, filled with whatever bullshit he decided to feed you?

The soap and shampoo smelled like him and you struggled not to wretch at the visceral reminder, stumbling out of the shower and fumbling with a towel until you were engulfed in it and standing there, staring blankly at nothing.

When the door swung open, you forgot to lock it again, and Jack sauntered in, sweaty from his workout and quiet as a cat, he paused and observed.

 

She was just standing there, thick towel wrapped around her like a blanket while she dripped water on the tiles and retreated into whatever lala land she decided to go to when things got bad. Couldn't have her do that, he mused as he approached, she needed to be conscious of every little thing or he wasn't going to be happy.

Manipulation is a fine art. There was give and take, more take than give, but you had to give enough to make the victim confused, to question if the taking is happening until it's just too late and it all feels like the new normal, that the old normal is an impossible, scary thing. Jack's big hands grasped the towel firmly, eyes narrowing when she didn't respond. She was a little pet project now, something to dissect and break down and rebuild at his leisure.

And there was one question that he was going to have answered while she was at her most raw and vulnerable.

He began to dry her off, starting with her hair, slowly and gently coaxing her back to reality with soft touches of the towel. By the time he'd finished off her arms and hands, patiently massaging at the bruising all over her skin, she had begun to stir, losing that thousand yard stare. "Hello Peep," he said, voice low and soothing, ensuring there was no air of menace present.

 

She made a little sound, like a chirp, and he held back a chuckle at it. Peep was an accurate nickname, but no longer in reference to Little Bo Peep, which her dress had originally inspired the thought of. She made all kinds of sharp, high bird noises, he realized. She peeped and beeped like the zebra finches of his childhood in Australia when she was distressed and inarticulate, that's what he was reminded of anyway.

 

This was the give. He knelt down in front of her and began to swipe moisture off her legs, noting how the beginnings of nervous fidgeting and tension were there in her hands and slender limbs. Now, it was time for the take.

Looking up at her, his expression remained deceptively calm but with that undercurrent of warning in his voice that worked well on her. "Are you a virgin, peep?"

 

Your head shook sharply and you blurted, "no!" Almost before he finished his sentence, eyes widening like dinner plates.

 

His hands caught the back of her thighs in a steady, firm grip so she couldn't step away like she was trying. The lie was obvious in her voice and actions, but the flush of pink from her cheeks to her chest cemented it. Lips curling into a smile, he leaned forwards and lowered his head, brushing his nose into the curls between her legs. "Liar," he said.

You just about leaped out of your skin when his tongue slid between your folds. "Ah-n-ah!" You squeaked, trying to bounce backwards and away but held ever firmly in place, a lick in response to every stifled movement. What was he _doing?_

Oh God, maybe tasting her was a bad idea. He groaned and dug in deeper, tasting the beginnings of her unwitting response to his tongue stroking against her clit. She tasted like honey, a literal honey pot. And she was a virgin, the implications nearly made his cock leap out of his pants. He would break her in, train her, make her so perfectly _his._

"N-no," you stuttered, cheeks flush with pleasure and a level of embarrassment you were sure to die from. Your hands went to reach for his head, paused, shifted away, reached again, stuck in a loop.

Another lesson she needed to learn, he decided as he held her still and tongued her with firm, steady strokes, was how _no_ meant _yes_ and _stop_ meant _go_. The only one in control was him. His cock throbbed painfully in his pants and he shuddered, groaning into her as his eyes half closed. He needed to take care of that before the whole plan went out the window and he just tackled her down to the floor.

 

"Stop please," you tossed your head back and closed your eyes tight, looking down at him was so perverse and wrong. His response was to lift you abruptly, towel falling away forgotten, and place your thighs over his broad shoulders, firmly wedging his face into your cunt. Wrapping one arm around your back, he held you in place while his free hand frantically tugged out his cock and began to stroke, the muscle of his shoulder shifting with quick jerks that let you know what was happening.

She weighed somewhere between a wet towel and air, he decided. He routinely carried gear on missions that weighed more than her, he could hold her there and drink her all day long. When the tension coiled up inside her, too tight and intense to stand and yet not enough, her long fingers curled into his damp, sweaty hair, nails scratching his scalp.

 

"That's it," he panted, stroking his cock in time with each languid lick. _Steady, Jackie,_ he warned himself.

A short, sharp howl flew out of you and you bucked your hips forwards with an uncontrollable jerk, the tension snapping like a piano wire and bone-deep pleasure radiating through your body making your toes curl. He kept up the licking through your orgasm, making you spasm and gasp, body hunching over his head and hands yearning to clench and tug at his hair.

 

He made a throaty noise in response, lungs pumping air like a blacksmith's bellows. She really sang when she came, to his delight. Easy, too, it had only been a few minutes. Squeezing his cock tight, he tried to simulate just how tight she might be around him when she came with him inside. It was deliciously painful and he thrust upwards into his hand, as eager as a fucking teenager, until he stopped licking her and focused purely on himself, muscles clenching and back arching as he came with a primal grunt.

 

You lay there on top of his head like a deflated balloon, panting, arms hanging down past your legs, while his hot breath puffed against your overstimulated pussy and he swayed a little, woozy from his intense release.

Jack honestly wanted to fall asleep after that, sneak a solid nap in, but the day was young and there was lots of work to be done. With a pleased rumble, he tugged her legs off his shoulders and held her steady while rising to his own feet, taking a few moments to reboot his brain before letting her go. "Go back to the basement," he said with cool indifference, kicking his pants off, striding past her and into the shower, intent on removing all the sweat and spunk he was covered in. If he did it sluggishly, well, nobody was judging.

Stumbling away, you couldn't think about what just happened. He was- he was manipulating you, that's what he was doing, trying to jumble you up. It wasn't your fault, but why did you feel so guilty, ashamed, dirty? Your father did a good job messing with your head as you grew up, but this situation was beyond your ken.

 

When you reached the basement, sore and tired yet somehow relaxed, you mechanically swapped the clothes in the washer to the dryer and wondered where you could sleep now. It was cold down here, brutally so on your completely naked body, so you wandered around like a lost lamb, shivering and aimlessly looking for a new bed. Hunger was creeping up on you too, but you could take that for a long while, it was possibly the easiest burden to bear out of this entire mess.

 

Unfortunately the basement was just a square, there was no hidden hidey holes to tuck into. Reluctantly, you curled up into the fetal position on Jack's bench and hoped not to be beaten like a dog for it. Then again, maybe you preferred that to the other options that were clearly on his mind.

You plotted frantically in your semi sleeping state. Jack had a phone, maybe you could get your hands on it and find a way to deliver a message to SHIELD? The whole damn organization couldn't be corrupt, not like the local PD, he'd get shitcanned and jailed, you would be free.

 

If you were going to do it, you'd need to figure out his last name, dig up some of his mail. And if he caught you...that part your brain filled in with vivid detail as you shivered.

 

Jack stomped out of the house, fully dressed, squeaky clean and with a plan of attack. As he drove away, confident that she wouldn't dare leave, he smiled grimly.

Snapping awake from your fitful half-sleep, you listened to his heavy stride above and your eyebrows flew up your forehead when you heard the front door close. You waited with your breath held, slowly rising to a sit, to see if he was only out briefly. The second you realized he was really gone, you hobbled to the dryer and dug out your underthings and clothes, dressing haphazardly.

 

Anxiety filled you as you exited the basement, wouldn't go away even when you peeked out behind the heavy curtain on the front window and saw his vehicle wasn't in the driveway. His phone wouldn't be here with him gone, that was certain, but you could maybe find his full name. Filled with nervous energy that overpowered your deep and more superficial pains, you swept through his house looking for mail, careful to touch nothing and leave no trace of your presence.

 

There was some junk mail in the garbage can, otherwise the place was just as anally clean as you observed when you first cased it. Grasping the corner of the unopened mail, you lifted it gingerly out of a pile of discarded leafy greens and read the address and name, committing it to memory. _Jack Rollins, so that was the demon's name,_ you thought.

 

It was time to leave but as you stared out the sliding back door, clenching the straps of your backpack tightly in your hands, you were having trouble taking that step outside. If you went to the library and figured out how to get in touch with this SHIELD agency, who was to say they would take you seriously? You had no idea how far up the food chain Jack Rollins was, though you suspected a brute like him couldn't be _that_ high up, but you were running on a very small amount of information and could get bitten badly.

 

But what was the alternative? Your jaw worked, brows pinched together tightly. He was trying to aggressively groom you and mindfuck you into obedience, you knew, your goddamn father intended on auctioning you and your virginity away to the highest bidder after all. The abuse from him was just mental and the threat of physical, nothing more, thank goodness.

You successfully took control of your life and ran from that, why not this? What was the big deal about running from two dangerous men instead of one?

 

Squaring your shoulders, you decided that there wasn't one. You were either going to succeed and end up in a better place or fail and, well, maybe eventually end up in a better place in a different, grimmer context. With a gulp, you slid the door open and walked out into the sun. Next stop: the library.

"Excuse me sir, can I help you?" A young woman with blond hair done in a bun asked tentatively, looking up at Jack and keeping a distance that was riding the line between too far away for polite conversation and far enough away to run like hell if need be.

He had been rubbing some fabric between his fingers, standing out like a sore thumb in the woman's clothing store while he frowned deeply and admitted to himself he had no idea how to pick clothes for women. Glancing towards the nervous sales associate, he straightened up and beamed her a smile, which had her immediately relaxing. "Oh thank God. I am positive you can. I am trying to buy my girlfriend some clothes for her upcoming birthday, why is there no such thing as one size standard for you ladies?"

She laughed, cozying up to him instantly, practically glowing with fondness over the poor, thoughtful-yet-hopelessly-lost man. "I can help you with that and you're right, it's awful. Do you have any idea what she normally likes to wear? We can find that first and then figure out the sizing from there," she cooed.

Smiling wickedly, he nodded. It tickled at his perverse nature to think that women were going to gleefully help him with enslaving another woman, all without knowing. Patiently, he allowed her to herd him around and pick outfits and scents. He was sniffing at a bottle of shampoo she handed to him when his phone buzzed, genuinely surprising him. "Sorry Nancy, looks like we're going to have to cut this short," he thumbed off the motion detector alarm and gestured towards the register, "let's get this bagged up."

Nancy wished him well and mooned over him as he left. If he weren't so damn good at obscuring his own emotions, she wouldn't even want to be a football fields distance near him. He considered his course of action as he tossed the bags into the back of the SUV and briskly seated himself inside.

 

She was one woman with zero resources. She had a library card, he'd sifted through her backpack for weapons when he abducted her, and a small stockpile of paper clips. She knew his first name and the full name of SHIELD, possibly his full name if she had the balls to do a little digging through his house.

 

The police were a no go, that was written in stone. Dear old dad would pluck her up and she'd go from one devil to the other, she wouldn't do that. If she went to SHIELD itself, well, HYDRA would take over and she would disappear, probably into a vat of acid somewhere. Worse yet, Rumlow would hear about it and he'd lose his shit.

She was desperate but still a cautious thief by nature, she would want information before making any further moves. He nodded to himself and made for the library, smirking.


	17. What's An Orange To You? 8 (Reader/Rollins)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No AU  
> Thief!Reader, Hydra!Rollins  
> TAGS: Desperation, physical assault, threats, mindfuck, enslavement, captivity  
> Summary: Day 1. The great escape. Jack finds out his captive has a bit of a spine, to his amusement.

Walking with a pronounced limp by the time you got to the library, you kept your gaze downcast to not attract any unwanted questions and concerns as you legged it to the computers. Thankfully one was available, sometimes you had to wait while students worked feverishly or bored people screwed around on Facebook. You were notably more sympathetic towards one group than the other.

 

A sigh of pained relief hissed through your teeth as you settled on a chair and grabbed hold of the mouse. What was that huge name again? Jack's voice vividly spoke the words as you recalled them: Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. A shiver ran up your spine as the look on his face came with the words.  
  


S.H.I.E.L.D. Someone out there had a sense of humor.  
  


In short order you were reading article after article about the organization and how it came to light, what it did and was currently doing. They were involved in that crazy battle in New York, with the aliens. You huffed. Sometimes reality was just so unreal, your own situation seemed like the least insane thing possible in comparison.  
  


So where was some contact information? It wasn't looking so good, you thought, these alphabet soup government organizations never liked giving the public easy access to hurl hate at them or, worse yet, address real concerns. You eyed a sticky pad with a pencil sitting discarded beside you and tugged it over, writing down an email you found.  
  


But what good was an email? Sure, you had an account just like everyone else who lived in a country with internet, but you needed to get a hold of someone _now_. Preferably before Tall Grim and Murderous got back home and realized he should have tied his pet up.  
  


He sauntered through the library, observing her from a distance casually while pretending to browse through books, he had arrived a while ago. A smirk tugged at his lip when he looked down at the book he had grabbed: Crochet For Masters. Well, it wasn't like someone was going to talk shit to him about it. She was scribbling on a notepad with a look of pure exhausted frustration.  
  


With all the bruising, small cuts and swelling, he knew her body would not be having a good time. Malnourished as she was, that slim frame had to be practically eating itself trying to generate enough energy to recover, all while she was forcing herself to move around and walk long distances. Getting a good line of sight on her and partially obscuring himself, he sat down at a table and opened his book, feigning reading about stitches and patterns with contentment.

 

He was very curious what she might be writing but he'd find out soon enough, he supposed.  
  


Address of their building, the Triskelion, email and one dubious phone number that lead to a _public relations associate_. You stared down at the notepad and bit your lip. Walking there and making yourself a physical nuisance was your best bet, it was much harder to dismiss someone shouting about crazy kidnapping employees in your lobby than it was on the phone or in an email. It was so far away though, a small groan escaped you at the thought of ever walking again.  
  


A brief rest, you decided as you closed down windows, made sure you were completely signed out of anything and everything, and stiffly rose to your feet. As handy as the notepad and pencil would be, you tore off the page you wrote on and left both there instead, a little pay it forward to whoever was forgetful enough to leave it there in the first place. _One foot after the other_ , you told yourself as you shuffled towards your favored bean bag seats.  
  


She was on the move, he observed, quirking a brow when she all but fell into a bean bag chair and dug out a book. Was she really taking a reading break? It rankled him that she could possibly do something other than gibber in terror and flee from one place to the next like a wanted fugitive. That was going to change real soon, he decided.  
  


Clearly, a soft touch wasn't going to bend her to his will. His hands gripped the book just a little tighter, imagining the visceral pleasure of just ripping her apart. _Down Jackie,_ he chided himself. He didn't need to be walking around with a stiffy right now.  
  


You could barely read, your brain just wasn't absorbing the words that your eyes were passing over. It didn't take long before the book fell down to your chest and you sagged limply, surrendering to sleep out of pure exhaustion.

 

Jack saw the second one of the librarians tuned into his sleeping target, the frown of disapproval clear on her features. Before she could make her move to try and awaken and probably eject her from the library, he made his own move. Rising smoothly to his feet, he walked, tiger-like, across the room and sank into a bean bag chair directly beside her and neatly blocked her from sight with his bulk.  
  


He stretched out a long leg and bent the other up, adjusting himself into a semblance of comfort in the too small seat, and then put on his STRIKE standard face. That uptight little librarian, having dared to make an approach anyway, took one look at him when he looked up at her and darted away like a fish from a shark. Success, as always.  
  


So warm and comfortable, heated by the sun coming through the windows, you slowly came to from the most pleasant sensation on your arm. Gentle, steady stroking, like one might pet a cat, left you with the most amazing feeling of safety and security, right up until you became conscious enough to realize that someone was actually touching you.

 

Sucking in a sharp breath, your eyes flew open and your body went rigid with a jerk. As the hand withdrew from your arm, dread settled inside you, threading its way through every molecule. It was him, lounging with lazy arrogance directly beside you. A tear burst from your eye instantly and slid down your cheek.  
  


His voice was so soft and consoling, almost like he didn't realize he was the source of your pain and terror, "don't cry," he murmured, too low for anyone else to hear as he leaned towards you and thumbed away the wetness, his callouses scratchy on your skin.

 

Not wanting to alert anyone to the danger you found yourself in, because the last thing you needed to do was find out who wins when a government agent clashes with the local police, you closed your eyes and took a few steadying breaths.

 

"That's it," he cooed, "ready to go home?"  
  


It was difficult to modulate your voice, it came out an airy whisper, "yeah."

 

All too casual, he set his own book down, spread open on his knee, and grasped yours to take a look at it. "This a series?" He questioned, thumbing open the first pages to answer the question himself.  
  


"Yeah," you said again, voice a little steadier.  
  


"Grab the next few," he flipped it closed and handed it over to her before rising to a stand. Just one more thing he could withhold and make her earn. He wandered to a book deposit box and dropped the one he had inside it, then wandered away to do more browsing while she did as ordered.

 

Swallowing at the knot in your throat, you had to fight with your legs and take a few tries to get up out of the low seat, not having taken your physical condition into account when you originally beelined towards your favorite spot. Placing the book in your backpack, you went about gathering up the next few in the series, all the while hyper aware of Jacks looming presence.

 

Placing several books down at the checkout, you looked at the librarian through heavy lidded eyes and held up your library card. "Checking out a few books," you said.

 

Looking like she was sucking on a lemon, she flipped open each book, scanned it and then took your card fast enough to be just slightly on the unfriendly side of professional. Jesus, what was her problem? You wanted to confront her, but it was just too much effort. People treated those they considered lesser than them with contempt all the time, _especially_ when they thought you were homeless.

 

You had a healing split lip and looked like shit too, you knew. Not one drop of empathy found its way to you as she handed the card back and firmly shoved the books towards you. _Well don't worry asshole, I'm probably about to get tortured to death anyways. Would that make you happy?_ Your eyes began to sting so you grabbed up the books and turned away quickly, fighting off the emotion as you limped towards the front exit.  
  


Jack manifested at your side as you struggled to get down the front stairs, one hand on the railing and almost all of your weight leaning on it as you slid down step by step. A low, distressed noise escaped you when he came in close and curled a steadying arm around you, the hand on your rib cage taking a good portion of your weight and making it easier. Bitterness filled you then and you couldn't hold it back. There was no one else around to hear it but him. "You'd hate for me to get hurt before you could do it yourself, huh?"  
  


"Awful brave in public, Peep," he said with deceptive neutrility.

 

"Awful polite in public, Jack," you hissed.  
  


His chuckle radiated into you. "Guess we're both liars, huh?" He shoved the door open and held it for you, letting you go in the process.

 

You didn't dignify him with an answer, if only because you were kicking yourself for being confrontational to begin with. This was going to come back to you tenfold, you knew. All this was happening over an orange, what would he do against a _real_ slight? You walked down the handicap ramp to avoid him helping you down the stairs again, then struggled with the merits of screaming your head off all the way to his SUV as he guided you like some kind of bodyguard.  
  


Maybe that's what his job was, a bodyguard for important government people and their wealthy, snobby associates? It would explain a few things.

 

The books felt like lead weights in your lap as you sat down on the comfortable, leathery seat and buckled up while he walked to the other side and settled in himself, the vehicle dipping slightly with his weight. You weren't sure why you even noticed, but you found yourself sensitive to everything, senses buzzing like a live wire. How his scent permeated the vehicle, the way his hands gripped the wheel hard enough to make the muscles of his forearm ripple after he started the SUV up and the uncomfortable quiet that followed.

 

Jack took no interest in the radio and you certainly didn't dare reach for it, so the drive was done in silence.  
  


When he pulled into the parking lot of a big box grocery store, your brows raised in pinched confusion, moreso when he keyed the humming vehicle off and then held his hand out, palm up, towards you.

 

"Give me the note you were writing on," he clarified before you could find the courage to ask, and you paled a little.  
  


Slowly, you reached into a pant pocket and pulled out the folded yellow piece of paper, a tremor running through your hand when you placed it in his open palm and withdrew quickly.  
  


Curious, he unfolded it between thumb and forefinger, resting his hand on the steering wheel as he read.  
  


You didn't want to look at him but you were stuck, waiting for the other shoe to drop while he obviously clued in to what you were doing. Would he attack you right here, right now? The windows were tinted, you wouldn't fool yourself into thinking you were safe anywhere with him.

 

"I'm going to tell you, just once, why this," he wiggled the paper, "is a bad idea."  
  


Blinking, you tilted your head slightly and listened.  
  


"Your worth to the government is zero, understand? Hell, you're a homeless thief, you're in the negative, sweetheart." He chuckled and held the paper out towards you. "I'm a decorated agent with seniority, experience and skill. It's your word against mine, who are they going to believe?"  
  


Cautiously, you took the paper while he talked, rubbing it between your fingers.

 

"In fact. Let's say they believe you somehow. Do you honestly think they are going to get rid of me? Who gets silenced in this scenario, Peep? You know it isn't me." He sneered. "What, you thought I was a desk jockey or something? Some low-grade, pencil pushing office drone?" He waited then, watching her carefully digest everything he just said, knowing the outcome already but wanting very much to _see_ it.  
  


You were fucked. He spelled it out crystal clear. The truth of it was you just happened to steal from the wrong person and were now pincered between three forces beyond your ability to control or escape. You could choose Jack, your father or death, those were the only true options you had.

 

He watched her face screw up and her hands crumple up the paper. "Well at least you aren't a complete idiot," he smirked, then rolled his shoulders and opened his door with a pop. "Stay here, I got some shopping to do and you're unsightly and slow."

 

The paper dropped from your hands and tumbled to the floor at your feet as the door closed and you were left to your thoughts, tears streaming freely as you covered your face with an arm and sobbed in earnest. _You're the one who made me unsightly and slow, asshole!_ You thought.  
  


Jack wasn't even mad that she tried to escape and fuck him over, he decided as he sauntered down isle after isle, picking this and that. The humor of people repeatedly entering an isle, seeing him in it and sharply moving to a different one had long since worn off, it was just a perk nowadays. No, he successfully warded her away from contacting SHIELD at all costs, neatly covering his ass and further tightening his coils around her in the process.

 

It also meant she had a little understated fight in her, despite the withering, weepy maiden routine. That was far more entertaining, as far as he was concerned. He was looking forward to just how much she could take before she broke down. Thinking about some of the clothes he bought her, he began to imagine what she would look like, looking up at him with those big eyes as he walked through the door to his house, still dirty from a mission – _ah, Jackie, think of something else_ – Mrs. Diaz in lingerie. Mrs. Diaz in lingerie.  
  


What was Peep's favorite food? He wondered. Probably cake, she had an obvious sweet tooth, he thought wryly.  
  


When the trunk popped open you woke with a hoarse grunt, having cried yourself straight to sleep in a matter of minutes. Bags were placed, one after the other, and you thought it sounded like an awful lot for someone who ate kale and slime drinks as the trunk shut and Jack walked off with the empty shopping cart. Did he buy food for you too? What the actual fuck? Your stomach growled at the very thought.

 

Jack offered no explanations when he seated himself and resumed driving. Settled into a daze, you didn't come to until he was parking again and you gulped fearfully when you realized it was his house.  
  


"C'mon," he said as he exited the vehicle and walked towards the back, prompting you to follow at your dramatically reduced pace.  
  


There were tons of bags back here, you realized as he began to load up his left arm until his whole forearm was covered in them and even more dangled off his fingers. He leaned forwards and rifled through some more decorative bags, labelled with what you knew to be the name of a popular woman's store. When he found what he wanted he shoved one of the bags towards you and scooped up the rest in one precise movement of his arm.

 

Clutching the bag against the books you were already holding to your chest, you followed him with great reluctance to his front door after he closed the trunk and locked up the SUV. The door swung open and the beautiful, well tended home honestly felt like a tomb as you stepped inside, Jack closing the door behind you in silence.  
  


He toed his boots off and placed them neatly on the mat in the closet and you did the same, suddenly very cautious and aware of his movements.  
  


Straightening up beside you, his entire demeanor changed, like pulling away a veil. His voice became low and menacing, "not so eager to talk back here, are you?"  
  


You definitely weren't, and so you kept utterly silent and still, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  
  


"Hand me the books and your backpack." He jutted his hand outwards, waiting.  
  


Placing the bag down, you shifted the books in your arms and turned to place them in his open hand, careful to not look up at him as you pulled the backpack off and held it up for him to take too.  
  


"This is how it really is," he remarked as he took the backpack and stretched upwards, placing the books and the pack on the high shelf above the coat rack, very out of your reach. "I'm big, you're small. I'm strong, you're weak. You're a cowardly rat, I'm not," he turned to loom over you once more, daring you to say otherwise.

 

No matter what, you were about to get hurt, you suddenly realized with a flush of anger. Looking upwards sharply, you locked eyes with him and watched his pupils dilate into huge black dots, nostrils flaring. "You thought I wouldn't leave, I did. I was going to go to SHIELD and do everything in my power to get them to fire and arrest you." Your chest tightened as you continued, because you couldn't see anger in his expression or posture, just this cold stillness that was somehow worse. "I even took a nap because you know what? You're a bully, and I can deal with that."  
  


Her little defiance had red creeping in on his vision and the blood supplying his brain with oxygen and rational thoughts taking a sharp turn in a southerly direction. "Go downstairs," it was just a gutteral growl of a command and for all her talk just then, she scurried to comply so fast she left the bag he handed her sitting there at his feet. He scooped it up and pursued, leaving the rest of the bags behind for now.  
  


He caught up with you while you were trying to get down the stairs, filling up the space behind you and radiating impatience and threat. Your lip wobbled and you bit it in response as your feet hit the concrete, thankfully insulated by your socks. Half a second after that Jack's hand caught you at the back and shoved you forcefully against the steel pole, the bag he had in his hand dropping to the floor as he grasped your shirt at the shoulder and shook you like a rag doll.

 

"I've been real nice to you, Peep," he snarled in your ear and forced the breath from your lungs with another hard shove, "that ends now." With no further warning, he began to rip your clothes to shreds beneath his hands.  
  


"No!" You shouted shrilly, trying with all your might to shove backwards, kick, fight and bite. It was over before it began, really, because he was right about at least two things earlier: he was big and strong and you were the opposite. He even tore the socks off your feet and tossed them aside.  
  


Yanking her around by the shoulder, he forced her back to the pole and watched her quake now that she was naked and afraid once more. Clenching his fist and raising it threateningly, he watched as she raised her hands to defend her face, and then struck the intended target.

 

You had never really been punched before. Threats and the like, a slap or two, sure, but not like this. His fist struck beneath your ribs and into your stomach like a wrecking ball, lifting you off your feet as all the air in you was expelled violently and your body lurched forwards over his arm.  
  


He'd pulled the punch dramatically of course, Jack knew how to hurt people without giving lasting damage, man or woman, but the way she reacted was as if he just punched straight through her body. Clearly, she was a stranger to real violence. He stepped backwards and watched her crumple to the floor into a ball, taking little gasps for breath and clutching at her stomach.

 

Struck with nausea and hyperventilating because you just couldn't pull in a proper breath, you completely forgot about him until he knelt down beside you and yanked your head up by the hair. "I want nothing more than to pulverize you, Peep," he said in an even, conversational tone, "it would be very, very easy. But I already decided I'm going to break you in every other way. Lucky you."

 

"Once you're done being a pathetic, weak lump on my floor, you're going to fold my laundry and bring it up to my bed," he began to count off her chores with sadistic glee, "then you'll come back down here, look in this bag I left you and put it on. Once you're done with that you will report to me," he gave her earlobe a quick, hard bite to shock her back to reality, "am I clear?"

 

"Y-yes," you barely managed to get the word out between labored gasps.

 

"Good," he said, letting her go and rising to his feet, leaving her to lay there as he said he would. Someone around here had to put the damn groceries away.

 


	18. What's An Orange To You? 9 (Reader/Rollins*)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No AU  
> Thief!Reader, Hydra!Rollins  
> TAGS: RAPE, enslavement, injury, coercion, manipulation, mindfuck  
> Summary: Day 1. Will Reader even make it through this horrible day? Jack is counting on it.

Time crept by without your knowledge. Without the sun to know, it could have been minutes or hours before you finally pulled yourself off the floor, surrounded by the wreckage of your clothes. Stumbling to the dryer, you made strangled noises every time you bent forwards to pull clothes out, a hideous bruise already forming above your belly button. His tasks, once you thought about it, were designed to put you in maximum physical pain, you realized.

 

It was funny how trauma seared things into your mind. You doubted you would ever forget his instructions as you tried to pile up all his folded clothes in your arms and make it upstairs in one trip. Unsure what he would do if he saw you stumble and dump everything to the floor, you relinquished half of them and admitted you'd have to do two trips.

Unable to even stand straight or walk steady, going up the stairs felt like the labors of Hercules. Vaguely, you registered that Jack was doing something in the kitchen while you limped towards the second set of stairs. You were glad to not see him but something smelled pretty good, good enough your stomach roared about it.

You had yet to enter his bedroom and floundered at the door for a minute before realizing you were going to literally run out of the energy required to remain standing if you didn't get going. Pushing the door open with your hip, you entered the lair of the beast and raked your eyes over it while walking to the bed. Said bed was huge, a king for sure, with a plain black blanket laid over it with surgical precision.

There was a night stand, a solid looking dresser and what appeared to be a walk in closet. The carpet under your bare feet was thick and tan colored. Realizing you didn't want to be trapped in the room should Jack come up the stairs and get ideas, you left quickly and all but slid down the stairs. One more trip to go.

Your captor remained out of sight, out of mind for the entirety of your mission, except for the smell of barbecue and other painfully delicious things beginning to saturate the air. Back in the basement, you stared down at the bag before sitting on the stairs and pulling it open. Several packages of lingerie greeted you and you let out a quiet sob in response.

 

You knew it was going to be something to wear, that wasn't the part that really upset you. It was the fact that someone who was beating you, molesting you and terrorizing you was the first person in years to actually buy you something unprompted and definitely not out of pity. That was the part that filled you with sorrow. Were you doomed to have nothing but evil men in your life?

He saw her come around the corner into the living room while he stood at the barbecue, flipping his chicken breasts and one small steak with tongs. As soon as he registered she chose to wear the lacy blue lingerie, his cock gave a twitch of interest and began to throb in time with his heartbeat. The blue was his first choice.

Unable to resist, you veered from approaching the open sliding door, not wanting to be seen outside in such a state, and into the kitchen to satisfy your curiosity. A riot of color greeted you, along with the intense, amazing smells of home made food that hit you like a punch to the gut. There was a large bowl of assorted fruits, bananas on a hook beside it, a plate with a small heaping of rice stir fry, what looked like roasted broccoli and a fist full of salad with some kind of fruit bits in it and a drizzling of sauce.

There was even a cake sitting under a glass, three different shades of chocolatey goodness on display. You leaned against the countertop, weak at the knees and not because your body was a beaten mess. Saliva filled your mouth and you swallowed repeatedly, tasting the air as much as smelling it. He made no noise as he came back inside, only making you jump slightly when he leaned over you and put down a plate of perfectly grilled meat, then settled his hands on either side of you, boxing you in.

"Hungry?" He inquired teasingly, eyeing her the same way she was eyeing the food.

 

"Yes," you admitted in a miserable croak. He wasn't just going to feed you out of the goodness of his heart, you were quite certain this man didn't have either of those.

 

"You could earn it," he rumbled, pressing his hips forwards and resting his painful erection against her back, rocking against her for relief. Her desperation was clear as day, would she break right there and then? He was eager to find out.

Of course. You closed your eyes and shook your head, not willing to say _no_ because he'd made it clear how that word would be responded to already. "I'm good," you whispered.

"That's a shame," he said, "gonna have to throw that whole plate out." He'd bet anything she loathed the idea of wasting food. Jack didn't have 'fuck you' money but he was a very frugal man, was paid generously and could certainly manage blowing a pile of cash specifically aimed at tormenting her. It wasn't an issue.

"A shame," you said through clenched teeth, holding very still.

Finally, after grinding his cock on her back for another solid minute, he leaned back and said, "come," like she were actually a dog. He closed the sliding door briskly and made for the couch, sitting down in the middle of it and gesturing for her to stand between his spread legs.

 

Equal parts rankled and worried, you followed after him and found yourself looking down at his darkened eyes and tented pants, anxiety sharply on the rise.

 

Between her cute flush, the lingerie and her hands clasping nervously at her front like some kind of jittery maiden, he couldn't take much more of it. His hands reached out and grasped her thighs, tightening when she flinched under his touch, and he pulled her up and over until she was straddling his thighs, dangerously close to his cock. Once she was in place, he pulled on the band of his pants and freed his erection, which strained upwards proudly and clearly filled her with alarm.

 

Jack didn't have a monster cock, but the way she looked at it sure made him feel like it. He consciously flexed and had to lean back and restrain himself when she closed her eyes tightly in response. "Look at it, Peep," he said, voice gravelly as his hands dragged her up until he was pressed flush against her barely concealed cunt. She wasn't listening, shaking her head slightly in denial. " _Look_ ," he commanded, the way he ordered probie agents around, and she responded instantly in a way that made his blood go from simmer to boil.

 

Biting your lip to keep it from wobbling, you tilted your head forwards and opened your eyes as ordered. There was something in the tone of his voice that was very difficult to not respond to, and it wasn't just the threat of physical violence, it was confusing. His dick jutted up between your legs, pressed firmly over your mound and scorching hot against the skin of your stomach.

 

The idea that he wanted to put it inside you, when you'd only ever lightly pressed a finger in out of curiosity and still felt an uncomfortable stretch, made you whimper in fear.

 

All her little signals were driving him crazy, the oxygen levels in his head reaching critical lows as he dazedly thought it was impossible to get any harder than this. "Look at that," he rumbled, "I'm going to tear you in half from the inside out, Peep." When she made a little distressed noise again, he clamped a hand down around his cock and squeezed hard for relief. "All it would take," he shifted his other hand from her thigh and prodded at the edge of the lacy panties with a fingertip, "would be to pull this aside and sit you on it."

 

"You don't want that," you said, sucking in a breath when you saw anger flash across his features.

"I do want that," he said, slowly pulling aside the lace and exposing her pretty little pussy, the threat clear.

 

"You want me to give it to you," you added hastily. It was true, he was going to use food and clothes and shelter, the necessities of life, against you until you broke down. You weren't too stupid to see what he was doing.

"You will," he growled, lip curling as he tugged the lace back in place and began to slowly stroke his cock, his knuckles brushing against her skin.

 

You sniffed and though you tried to fight it, tears began to blur your vision anyway. You weren't sure you were strong enough to starve yourself to death before giving him what he wanted, food had become your primary motivator in life and even if it was a miserable one, you still liked living. Maybe, maybe you could coerce him into giving you small portions if you gave him a little of what he wanted?

 

He froze, sucking in a breath when her delicate hands reached down and touched his cock and the hand grasping it, feeling like cool silk on his burning skin. Was she breaking so soon?  He'd be disappointed if he wasn't busy being so goddamn horny.

Feeling perverse and awful, you jumped a little when his hand came up off his stiff shaft and grasped your hand, guiding it down firmly until your fingers were wrapped around it, just barely. It was scalding hot and you could feel his heart beating rapidly through it, the organ impossibly hard yet soft, engorged veins adding extra texture to the feeling.

 

His hands fell away to his sides and he stared, laser focused, on both of hers wrapping around him. It was clear to him she'd never touched a man like this before, and as she began to slowly trace the shape of him in her novice hands, he resolved that she was going to be getting _lots_ of practice. With a flex of his hips he forced himself through her fingers, impatient for more friction, and huffed out the breath he had been holding.

 

Unsure what to do beyond knowing the basic mechanics of it, thanks high school sex ed, you began to slowly stroke in response to his loss of patience. He seemed to ripple beneath you every time your fingers reached the top, so you squeezed harder there and saw his lips part, mouth falling open as he began to breathe forcefully.

 

Pretty sure he could get off like this, newbie fumblings or not, he was just that aroused, he tucked a hand into his pants and played with his balls to help the process. She was slowly stroking him towards completion with that soft touch, the little squeezes at the head of his cock as his foreskin shifted were doing things to him. Normally, masturbation was just a quick, rough method of relief, he'd never experienced this before, sexual expert or not, Jack was always in control in the bedroom.

 

It was wrong, you knew, to feel an aching pulse between your legs as you did this. You only hoped it would be over soon, watching the skin rumple up at the head of his cock every time you stroked upwards. You didn't dare look away.

Were he not paying such close attention himself, he would not have noticed how the light blue panties she was wearing were becoming soaked through, darkening beneath her mound. "You like this, Peep," he grunted, the revelation alone pushing him close, his cock was throbbing so hard. "You're soaked."

 

Swallowing tightly at the painful pulse of want his husky voice elicited, you unconsciously pressed your hips forwards and rocked against the base of his cock, ever so slightly, seeking relief.

He noticed that too. A deep-chested growl reverberating through his body and his clenched teeth as his balls flexed in his hand, shooting his release violently up his shaft.

You gasped as it happened, saw and felt his cock going somehow even more rigid, visibly growing and expanding in your hands right before his cum shot up your stomach and spurted several more times, Jack's primal noises stealing your breath away. Your hands were covered in the thick, milky white liquid and you sat there, stunned and wide-eyed at what you had done.

Sluggish from his release and caught in the blissful haze of pleasure that lingered before his brain turned back on, Jack barely reacted in time when her eyes rolled back into her head and she fell backwards. As it was, he caught her with two fingers catching in the bra strap between her breasts, keeping her from falling to the floor as she went limp.

It took an extra second to parse what just happened, but when he did an incredulous laugh bubbled out of him. "Was it good for you?" He said mirthfully to his unconscious plaything, idly smearing his thumb through the cum on her stomach as lascivious thoughts filled him once more.

You woke up laying on the short carpet beside the couch, apparently discarded. Pain left you grimacing as you touched at your bruised stomach, legs curling up as you tried to put together what happened. Fingertips touching on something crunchy, you looked down and realized dried cum was flaking off your stomach and hands, utter disgust striking you like a lightning bolt.

As if on cue, Jack sauntered into view, already cleaned up from their little session. He grinned wickedly at the look on her face, twisted with revulsion as she stared at herself. "Get up and come eat," he said, turning and heading for the kitchen. Dinner was cold now, but it was going to be worth it.

Food. You did this for food, you reminded yourself dazedly as you got to your hands and knees and used the arm of the couch to stand, where you hunched forwards to avoid engaging the muscles of your stomach any more than you had to. Breaths coming in short puffs, you shuffled to the kitchen after him.

He was seated on the opposite side of the countertop on a stool. Apparently it doubled as his table, seeing as he didn't have one, and there was only one stool. Still. Food. You leaned heavily on the counter and waited as he organized his own meal with painstakingly slow precision.

Having honestly thought he would be throwing out her entire portion of food, he only had a little while to think about how he was actually going to do this and privately conceded this situation to be a small win on her part. After his chicken breasts, broccoli and salad were on his plate, he gestured towards her own meal and the steak on the plate beside it magnanimously. "Bon appétit, Peep," he smirked.

 

Maybe it would be better if she thought she'd get a meal like this every day.

 

You could barely believe your ears, couldn't hide the awe on your face as you pulled the two plates and their corresponding utensils towards yourself. You'd stand to eat for all eternity if you got to eat like this every day. Then again, you gulped as you dug your fork into the stir fry, remembering what you actually had to do to get this.

 

 _Put it out of your mind and worry about it later_ , you thought, cautiously delivering the first bite to your mouth and stifling a moan that Jack clearly heard, considering he paused to watch you with his own fork stabbed into his loveless salad.

He set his fork down and watched her eat, far more interested in observing than sating his own comparatively mild hunger. It was entertaining to watch her begin to eat too fast and then pause, as if consciously reminding herself to slow down. She most likely learned the hard lesson that eating too much too fast when your stomach was tiny was an invitation to a lot of pain and possible vomiting.

 

There were pros and cons to spelling out exactly how things were going to be for her, but he was firmly settling within the camp of keeping her guessing. He did not want her to ever feel comfortable, instead to always be looking over her shoulder and wondering when he was going to lash out. This was no guest house, no friendly stay, and she was definitely not a welcome addition to his routine.

 

Finishing off the stir fry left you with a heavy feeling in your gut, so you decided to move on to the salad and save the juicy looking steak for last, if you could even fit it. Turning your plate until the salad was close, you kept your gaze squarely on the food and tried not to take note of the fact you were being closely observed like some kind of zoo exhibit. As you stabbed a load of salad on to your fork and raised it to your mouth, you caught sight of something among the green that made you freeze, mouth open and eyes wide.

 

A little slice of orange, impaled at the tip of the fork, made your heart pound in your ears and gave you the sensation of your stomach dropping out of your body.

 

He saw it, eyes locking on the piece of fruit as she turned white as a ghost. His lips curled into a slow, mean grin.

Swallowing at the tight lump in your throat, you slowly lowered the fork down and pried off the piece of fruit with your fingers, dropping it to the plate. From there on, you carefully avoided getting any more orange near your face, steadily eating the salad until a little stack of orange bits remained.

 

How many ways could he use oranges to torment her? He wondered idly as she pushed aside the plate, broccoli untouched, and tried her hand at the steak. Was it just the sight, or would the smell and taste elicit the same reaction? It filled him with wicked delight to know that he had affected her in such a way that she couldn't even look at the source of her situation without looking like she was going to hurl, he hadn't even thought of it!

This demon was one hell of a cook, you admitted bitterly as the well seasoned steak melted on your tongue and you moaned at it, blushing faintly at the wanton sound.

Oof, he had to look down and start on his own meal then as the sound and look on her face elicited explicit images in his active imagination. He'd take himself in hand later if need be, but unless she got down on all fours and begged for his dick he wasn't going to do anything else tonight, and the chance of that happening was slim to none.

 

 _All in good time_ , he thought as his dick twitched in reaction to another stifled sound of pleasure. _Hang in there, Jackie._

Your legs were shaking and you definitely felt overfull by the time you were done, unable to finish the steak or the broccoli despite wanting to cram everything inside you, not knowing when you'd eat next. He finished a while ago, intently watching your continued struggle until you pushed the plates towards the center of the countertop and leaned hard on your forearms to try and get some relief for your legs.

"Do the dishes," he jutted a thumb over his shoulder, "vacuum the mess you made on my carpet, then go back to the basement," he said as he rose to a stand and sauntered out of the kitchen.

Unsure if he wanted you to acknowledge what he said or not, you opted to be quiet until he was away, then lurched into motion and began to collect the dishes with shaky hands. More than a few prayers were recited in hopes of not accidentally dropping or smashing anything, you weren't sure if you were up to the tasks at hand.

 

He sat on the couch, idly browsing the internet on his phone while she puttered around like a maid. He made no move to acknowledge her, wanting the tasks to get done and planning out how day 2 was going to go. Jack also needed to decide what day to come back to work on. Brock was legendarily anal about people missing work and he knew damn well he only got away with it because he was his 2IC and never requested such an unthinkable thing before.  That and Brock was completely right about him murdering someone at work if he didn't get his hands on the thief beforehand.

He could also be called in at any time for something SHIELD or HYDRA related. He wanted to be extremely certain she wasn't going to flee if he had to go on a mission, though her poorly planned escape had done much of that work for him, by the looks of things. A crooked smile crept on his face as he wondered if she might try to attack him at some point, how desperate would she have to be for that? She did show faint traces of having a spine, after all.

 

Maybe he'd invite her to do such, leave something dangerous laying around. Or he could wait and see what she would get creative with. Hammer from the workbench? He smirked as he listened to her rasping for breath as she tried to go downstairs. Perhaps the bat in his room? Knives in the kitchen?

One more day, he decided, before he'd go back to work. He'd just have to make it a real high impact day, make it count.

 

Running on fumes and full of food and injury related pain, you barely managed to place the lingerie bag on top of the washer and gather your shredded clothes into a little pile, tossing them into a large garbage pale that was beside the workbench. You wanted to cover yourself with the scraps, try and eke a little warmth out of the corpse of your clothes, but it wasn't worth getting hurt over, you would manage.

 

Laying painfully on your side on the weight lifting bench, you closed your eyes tight and tried to get the sleep you desperately needed.

 


	19. Killing The Hydra (Reader/Frank Castle)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Punisher  
> Vampire!AU  
> Crime Boss!Reader/Vampire!Frank Castle  
> TAGS: Violence/promise thereof, murder/mayhem, legitimate villain reader, blood/threat of drinking it, classic vampire mindfuckery  
> Summary: Reader is the leader of an organized crime group that facilitates the trafficking and selling of human beings. The Punisher is a bogeyman who has been cutting a swathe through bad guys with a vengeance. Your group, and you, are next. Man, whoever raised this guy from the dead was a real asshole.
> 
> Upon reflection, Frank Castle is a really good candidate for being a vampire, isn't he? Kills lots of people: check, Deeply flawed moral code: check, Basically a predator: check, Tormented by loss: triple check

Muffled gunfire and screaming in the distance had you glance up from your newspaper. Phone service went out a half hour ago, the power 5 minutes after that. That's when the screaming started, haunting shrieks that carried through the vents, along with pops of gunfire that were quickly snuffed.

 

There was an eerie graveyard silence now, it made the hairs at the back of your neck rise. The Punisher was here in your compound, and he was absolutely coming for you.

 

As if in tune with your thoughts, the door to the chamber flung open and slammed into the wall. If you weren't inside a bulletproof cell, the sound would have been deafening. The clap of gunfire came immediately, one bullet connecting with the glass. A test shot, perfectly level with your head, that proved bullets weren't going to be getting to you any time soon.

 

You folded your newspaper and placed it down on the small table in front of you, rising to a stand as slow, heavy footsteps circled around the room, hidden in the dark. A powerful UV light shone down above you, the only light still on, encasing you and the glass in safety.

 

"Frank Castle," you said, clasping your hands at your front.

 

"That's right," he said with a raspy voice, before his tone shifted and he snapped in an accusatory tone at someone else, "hey Jackass, there's a light still on in here."

 

"Closed circuit," you intoned patiently, sauntering towards the thick glass, trying to get a look at him. "Your friend wont be turning it off." The light buzzed overhead and was strong enough to make you feel uncomfortably warm. It was preferable to the kind of death Castle had on offer though.

 

"No food. No shitter. Doesn't look like you think you're going to be in there for long," he said.

 

It was true, all that was inside your rectangular enclosure was the table, chair, newspaper, a lever connected to the floor and you. "Correct. This is just an enclosure to observe an animal up close.  Just like a zoo." A slow smile spread across your face.

 

You saw the white skull first, well, a bit of it. Red of all shades was caked all over it as he stepped forwards just enough for his features to be revealed. Armed to the teeth, impressively broad and looming, he glared from his position, safely outside of the light. His face was coated too, concentrated more around his mouth and chin. "You aren't leaving here alive. I am very hungry," he smiled then, all white teeth and sharp fangs.

 

"So your condition is true then," you tilted your head, fascinated, "you might try opening your mouth next time." Huffing a laugh, you shook your head, unperturbed. "God knows you got your food everywhere else."

 

"Saving space for you," he growled, "going to suck every drop of poison out of you after I've had my fun. A woman who trafficks women and children deserves nothing less."

 

"I heard that about you. Oddly self righteous." You wagged a finger at him and shook your head. "They are all fucked either way, you know that right? Their friends, family, parents, they _sold_ them. I have never had to kidnap a soul."

 

"Wont be anyone left to traffick them when I'm done with you and those other scumbags out there."

 

"You think you're cutting the head off a snake," you sneered, "but I got news for you Hercules: it's a Hydra. Crime will never be gone and the more people at the top you kill? The crazier things are going to get around here. Not that you're going to be killing me, I don't want you to get confused on that point."

 

"What's the lever for?" He snapped, rocking on his feet, clearly eager to lunge forwards and prove you wrong. But the light burned, you knew, he really was a vampire.

 

"You'll find out when I'm done with you," you said, tilting your head.

 

Baring his teeth like an animal, he took a few seconds to regain control, to smooth over his features into mere seething anger instead of unholy rage. "Nobody is coming to save you. I got all the time in the world to get into that box with you."

 

"6 hours until sunrise. I don't make a call that says I'm alright," you placed your phone up against the glass and wiggled it, "cops will be on their way and well, you aren't going to let them cuff you and drag you off, now are you? Your good guy image might get a little _soiled_ while you're trying to not get pulled out into the sunshine."

 

His tongue darted out, swiping across his bloodied lips, eyeing you like a snack before glancing up at the ceiling.

 

"Thinking about coming in from above?" You quipped, pocketing your phone. "I've watched a lot of footage of you at work, Frank. Haven't seen you pound through several feet of concrete and rebar yet. That's kind of like busting through the wall of a bank vault, in case you need some context. Feel free to prove me wrong though," you swirled a finger upwards.

 

He nodded slightly, pulling the assault rifle off his shoulder and dropping it to the ground with a muted clatter before he stepped back into the shadows and you heard the door slam open once again. His drive to kill was genuinely impressive but it was too bad it was aimed at you. It wasn't too long before there was a dull thumping sound above, but the light didn't so much as shake.

 

You smiled and waited.

 

He was livid when he got back, you could tell, prowling around your room like a predator, growling under his breath and swiping a hand over his head the few times you caught a glance of him.

 

Unfortunately he didn't seem to be too interested in exchanging pleasantries and you were growing tired of the zoo exhibit, interesting creature or not. Rubbing your hands together, you walked towards the lever. "Well Castle, it was good finally meeting you in the flesh, but it's time for me to go."

 

"Oh?" He said, coming to the edge of the light again, fists clenched.

 

Hand wrapping around the handle, you nodded. "I'd say 'until next time', but you wont be seeing me again. I hear you don't leave New York," you chuckled.

 

Before you could pull the lever, his voice filled the room with a sharp, commanding tone, "do not move."

 

It was like the words pierced your brain, paralyzing you, leaving you blinking in confusion as you obeyed. No matter what you told your hand or your body, you could not move, the message being sent but the muscle not receiving it.

 

"I don't normally do that," he said, crossing his arms and tilting his head. "Don't you feel special, getting to see the zoo animal do some tricks for you?"

 

You stayed quiet, eyeing him beneath half closed eyes, held captive. This changed things.

 

"Your heart was so steady until right now," he grinned ferally, shaking a finger at you before baring his teeth in a silent snarl, pulling the digit back when it smoked in the light. Eyeing his hand for a moment, his gaze snapped back up to you and his voice pulled you back in. "What does the lever do?"

 

"It will lower my cell to the floor below, one of the glass panes lifting up as it descends," you said in a dazed tone, your tongue working no matter how you tried to fight it.

 

He nodded. "How do I get to that floor?"

 

"Sealed off, you can't," you shook your head and closed your eyes, trying to shake off the fog.

 

"Then how do you leave?" He growled, getting impatient.

 

"There's a car and a reinforced door that only that car can activate. I get in the car and drive off."

 

Tongue darting over his lips once more, he nodded slowly, a grim smile pulling at his face. "Pull the lever...and say your prayers."

 

Your fist tightened on the handle before mechanically pulling as instructed, a loud grinding noise followed by a harsh clack going off in your ears. You watched, eyes locked with his oily, malevolent pools that dug into your brain, until he was out of sight.

 

He never instructed you to get into the car and drive out. His mistake. As soon as the fog of his compulsion wore off, you sat in the plush seat of your Bentley and turned on some music.

 

His fists pounded against the heavily reinforced door for the better part of 5 hours while he howled like a demon, cursing and shouting what you imagined to be all kinds of promises and descriptions of what he'd do when he got those bloodied mitts and big fangs of his on you and in you. In the end, you drove out of the facility with the sun shining over the hood, a smile on your face and a flight to catch.

 


	20. Killing The Hydra 2 (Reader/Frank Castle)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vampire!AU  
> Crime Boss!Reader/Vampire!Frank Castle  
> TAGS: Violence, stalking, kidnapping, injury  
> Summary: Reader already had a brush with The Punisher and lived to tell the tale, how long can that last exactly? Who knows, but the weather in Cancun is fantastic.

Cancun was awesome, quite frankly. You mused on why you hadn't come here sooner while you sipped on a mojito and basked in the sunshine, this is what you were meant to do while your lesser peers did the grunt work. Yep, this was a good call, let the whole Punisher thing blow over and the competition get eliminated while you were partying it up.

 

You really aught to thank Frank Castle for being a scary motherfucker, but he would probably use a postcard to hunt you down and rip out your throat.

 

Hard pass.

 

Night time found you drunk as a skunk and stumbling into your bed after a solid round of dancing and clubbing. Just as your eyes had begun to close, one foot on the floor to fight off the spinnies and the rest of your body sprawled out, your phone buzzed to life. Sighing in annoyance, you flailed a bit before managing to get a grip on it, thumbing the call open. "Yeah?" You said roughly.

 

A heavily modulated voice made your eyes snap open instantly. "So you're the one who pissed Frank Castle off so bad he almost killed me when he got back," he said.

 

"The one he spoke to in the facility," you said, rising to a sit. Sobriety couldn't come fast enough.

 

"That's me," he said, "I really wanted to hear from you before he got his hands on you, seeing as you pissed me off pretty bad too."

 

"Suppose you're the one who tracked me down, hm?" You rose to your feet and crept out of your bedroom quietly, mapping out the path you'd need to take to your car. Your hired security, if they were still in the realm of the living, weren't long for this world.

 

"Oh yeah, there's no hiding from me, or him now. Good luck," he said.

 

"I don't get by on luck," you growled, hanging up and tucking the phone into your bra. Stumbling along on drunken legs, you swiped up the tank top you flung off when you walked through the door and were walking down the hall, shoulder against the wall for support with it half way over your head when you heard two distinct, heavy thunks.

 

Freezing to the spot, your stomach dropped out of your body as the tank top slid into place and revealed a familiar silhouette at the end of the hallway. His fists clenched.

 

"Ah fuck," you mumbled, turned right around and stumble-ran towards the back patio.

 

"Cancun. Nice place," Castle said, following after you at a saunter. "Smells like you've been partaking of the night life too. Should've joined in, I'm all about the night life now."

 

Bumping off the living room couch, you sprung towards the patio door with newfound vigor, heart pounding in anticipation of either a very fast or very slow death. The second your hand touched the sliding door handle, Frank's hand clamped around the back of your neck and slammed you face first into the glass door. "Nnh!" You said.

 

"What you said back there in that compound," he squeezed, sliding your face up until you were hanging there, feet kicking back at him pointlessly, "about the Hydra. You remember that, drunkie?" He shook you a little, like a rag doll. "Yeah, I thought so. What you said about the Hydra got me thinkin'."

 

You gripped the door and cringed away from him pressing against you, his hand on your neck was cool, just shy of room temperature, with callouses as harsh as low grit sandpaper. With your blood pumping as fast as it was, the alcohol was being burned out of your system rapidly.

 

His clothing shifted and the door creaked from the pressure he was putting on your face, making you hiss. Bringing his eyes level with yours, he smirked, pale as death in the moonlight. "Do you think I'm going to bite you, right here, right now?"

 

"Crossed my mind," you said, kicking at him once for good measure, your bare foot bouncing off his thigh.

 

"I'm going to," he smushed you into the glass once more, "and you are going to die. But not now. I hear you have a private jet, and I need a ride."

 

"Go fuck yours-"

 

"Sleep," he hissed into your ear, compelling. Your eyes slid shut and body fell limp on command.

 

When you woke up, dehydrated and hungover as hell, it was to darkness, hands bound behind your back and feet at the ankles. "Fuck," you said into the fabric balled in your mouth, sealed in there with tape. This was a trunk and the vehicle was not moving, so odds were that kicking out the tail light and attracting help was not an option anymore.

 

A door popped open and clicked shut, the vehicle shifting as weight lifted from it, footsteps approaching on what sounded like gravel. You rolled to your back and butt scooted until you were centered, knees at your chest and ready to give a good kick.

 

"Time for us to have a chat," Frank said, popping the trunk open and leaning in to grab you.

 

The second he appeared you kicked up and planted your heels into his face, connecting solidly and making him stumble back. Hooking your legs over the open trunk you pulled yourself up and balanced on the edge as he straightened out, rubbing his chin and glaring.

 

"Not sure where you thought you were going with that," he muttered, stepping back in close and shoving your kicking legs aside, grasping your hands and the back of your neck, roughly tossing you to the rocky ground and making you hiss in pain. "Kick again and I'll stab you."

 

You bashed your feet into his legs, confident these were your last few breaths one way or another.

 

He was on you in a flash, pinning you on your side by the legs with one of his, knife in hand. "There's a few advantages to this whole undeath thing," he slid the flat of the blade across your thigh thoughtfully, "I know exactly where all the big veins are," he started to grin as your pulse spiked and you writhed, pausing over a spot and directing the point of the knife against your bare skin, "so I can make sure you scumbags don't bleed out too fast." Without further warning, he stabbed the knife into you with a meaty crunch and made you howl in agony.

 

"The other advantage _was_ that everyone knew vampires didn't exist," an unknown voice belonging to a woman spoke from nearby, not that you could see, with your eyes pinched shut against the pain.

 

An exasperated huff escaped him. "I'm busy," he snapped.

 

"You're dead," someone else, a man, growled.

 

Yowling into the gag as he flung off of you and began to brawl out of sight, you huffed incredulously and sighed, twisting until you grasped the hilt of the knife in your bound hands. Inhuman snarls were all around, inciting you to move fast. Heavy thuds, clothing tearing, gravel crunching, who knew how long the fight would last.

 

Yanking the blade out you shrieked angrily and cut at the zip ties between your wrists with frantic energy, the second they came undone you slashed the bindings at your ankles and crawled up beside the car, using your hands and good leg to move at a quick pace until you were at the driver side door and opening it. Growling as a fiery spike of pain stabbed through your thigh when you sat in the seat, you were relieved to find the keys still in the ignition.

 

Someone landed on the hood and rolled off of it as you keyed it on. The door shut as you hit the gas and took off, tires kicking up dirt and rocks, hearing Castle screaming your name and swearing only made you press it down harder. He'd brought you to a gravel pit, you realized quickly while ripping the tape off your mouth and putting the saliva-slicked gag against your freely bleeding leg wound.

 

The back window exploded, a bullet passing through it and into the passenger seat as you flew down the rough road leading out of the pit, nearly making you careen into the woods before you recovered and barked an incredulous laugh. Once you got onto the road you pulled your phone free from your bra, odd that he'd left it there in the first place, and made some quick, tense phone calls.

 

"Get my pilot in my jet and have it ready to go by the time I get there," you hissed, cutting off the incredulous stammering response of the lackey on the other side of the call, "I'll need a doctor too, got some stitching that needs to be done."

 

"Destination?" You said wryly, a dark smile passing over your face, "New York."

 

 

 


	21. Commander, Not Captain. (Rumlow/Reader *)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hydra Wins AU  
> Agent!Reader, Hydra!Rumlow  
> Tags: RAPE, blood as lube, humiliation, Hydra wins, original character(side character), enslavement, murder, violence, Crossbones as Captain Hydra, good guys lose, mindfuck, stalking, intimidation, injury, assault, despair  
> Summary:  
> Project Insight failed. A major setback, but cut off one head and two more shall take its place. Hydra captured Wanda Maximoff and have bent the power of the Scarlet Witch to their will, instilling it within a loyal subject. There's another one, loyal to the very end, that she would see brought back. The Avengers don't know what's happening until it is far too late.
> 
> Reader is an agent from the now-disbanded STRIKE teams helping fill in mundane roles in the still-fresh aftermath of the DC incident when everything goes south. Again.

**The Beginning**

 

Captain Steve Rogers had no idea what was coming.

 

Agent Crimson's lips quirked upwards at the faint sense of distant screaming that tingled under her skin as she pulled the illusion of Wanda Maximoff tighter around herself. Rogers was sitting at a table in the Avengers tower, drinking black coffee and brooding.

 

"Wanda," he said mildly, giving a nod. He wasn't one to hold a grudge. "I thought you were off the grid, what brings you back?" He placed his steaming mug down, blue eyes sedately regarding her, giving polite attention.

 

"I was, Captain," she intoned, smiling tightly, eyes gleaming as the electronics in the room blacked out. "But I have a new mission."

 

He was on his feet just in time for the world to shift, making him rock and shout in alarm. In the space of a blink he was no longer in the dining room and found himself staring at white walls, the stench of hospital and charred flesh invading his nose. "What?" He said, mouth partly hanging open as he regarded Wanda and then the hospital bed he was standing beside. "Rumlow?" His brows drew together, looking down at the man wrapped like a mummy, only recognizable as the traitor by his vaguely familiar profile.

 

"The Commander was said to be dead, but here he is," Wanda said, voice soft as her gaze hardened into a malevolent stare. "Loyal to his last breath."

 

"You aren't Wanda," Steve said lowly, fists clenching.

 

"Wanda and I are one and the same, Captain," she said, head tilting slightly as Wanda's familiar red magic began to radiate from her form. "Hail Hydra."

 

Steve dove for her, hand outstretched, letting out a frustrated grunt as he hung in the air, frozen in place. "What did you do to Wanda?" He grit out.

 

"Miss Maximoff is a tool now, a tool to aid Hydra in ushering the world into a new dawn," she smiled, "and you are too." She lifted a finger and swirled it lazily through the air, eyes narrowing.

 

"You wont," he gasped and faltered as the pain hit, a fire igniting under his skin and saturating his body rapidly, "get away with this!"

 

"I already have," she said, flicking a finger towards the still and bedridden Rumlow.

 

Steve Rogers screamed, he hadn't screamed like this since 1943. Back then it was like exploding from within and stretching outwards, unsure if his frail body could handle the treatment without coming apart at the seams. But this. This was being shredded and hollowed out, everything that made him _Steve_ was being torn away.

 

Agent Scarlet watched the ghoulish transformation, intensely focused. Wanda's screaming buzzed inside her head, shrouding Rogers' agony as she directed a thin red line towards Rumlow and made the connection.

 

The result was instantaneous. Rumlow stirred fitfully, roused from his comatose state. It was only a few seconds before he started screaming too. His voice was a hoarse, broken thing, rapidly growing stronger as everything that made Steve Rogers a legend was forcefully imbued into his own broken body.

 

It took maybe two minutes but Agent Crimson's hair was plastered to her head in sweaty strands as the screaming stopped and all that could be heard was different tones and speeds of panting. "Fascinating," she whispered, staring down at the shrunken, disheveled form of Captain America and then at the curled up form of Commander Rumlow.

 

Steve let out a piteous cry as his eyes opened, the white blur of agony receding until he felt familiar old pains, saw his gangly arms and thin-fingered hands. He couldn't articulate the horror that settled in his chest, only stare and cough weakly.

 

Crimson watched with wonder as Rumlow's shaking hands began to pull away his too-tight bandages, lips tugging into a sharp grin when she realized the burns were almost gone already. "Commander," she intoned, watching as he looked from his hands, to Rogers, to her.

 

His slow grin communicated exactly how he was feeling about his new situation. Powerful. Dangerous. "Hail Hydra," he said, sliding to his feet and looking down at Rogers again, fists flexing.

 

"Hail Hydra," she said, smirking. "Come, there is work to be done." Offering her hand, she waited for his approach.

 

"What about Rogers?" He nodded down at the broken man at his bare feet, still in a hospital gown that no longer fit him properly.

 

"Accommodations have been made for the good Captain." She flicked her hand at him in a dismissive gesture and he dropped through a portal that opened under his body, letting out a surprised cry before it snapped shut.

 

Rumlow nodded, walking towards her while his mind buzzed at the sensory bombardment he was experiencing. "Let's get moving," he said.

 

Swiping her sweaty hair aside, Crimson ran a hand over his impressive figure. The gown fell away, exposing his renewed, formidable frame before the familiar red, white and blue of Captain America's iconic suit materialized and encased him. "I will brief you," she said.

 

**3 Days Later – SHIELD Compound**

 

A soft huff escaped you as you put down the last hefty box. At least it was someone else's job to sort through all of this mess, you thought as you walked out of the meeting-room-turned-temporary-storage-room. Immediately, you realized something was off.

 

Your coworkers, those loyal who remained after the Hydra plants had revealed themselves in the DC incident, had fallen silent. Crossing your arms, you carefully scanned over the open office room and saw who everyone was staring at. You blinked slowly.

 

Captain Steve Rogers was not a sight you thought you would ever see again, not at a Shield facility anyway. He was quietly regarding everyone in return, and when his blue eyes landed on you they seemed to linger a moment longer than others before brushing past. "Glad to see not everyone was Hydra," he mused out loud before turning and walking down the hall and out of sight.

 

Sheepishly, you shaked off the odd feeling of unease his gaze had given you and resumed your duties. As if the play button had been hit, everyone else did the same. Office work wasn't your thing, but you were multi talented and well, with the Strike teams summarily disbanded in the wake of DC, you were out work anyways.

 

Throughout the day you helped fix things, move things, motivate and filled gaps in general, as you had been doing every day since Shield began the recovery process. The hope was that recruiters would find some new people who were more trustworthy than the previous. Captain America's visit had caused quite a stir, it seemed like every other sentence you over heard had some fragment of his name in it.

 

"As this is our new base of operations, Steve Rogers has volunteered to personally safeguard us while we help Shield through its recovery," your boss, also a talented agent reduced to managerial tasks, said. He didn't seem phased, but the Strike agents were used to the presence of the iconic hero, you weren't as star struck as everyone else either.

 

"Well, that's a relief," you said, tossing a hefty sheaf of filled out paperwork in the tray on his desk. "All filled out, see you tomorrow." He made an inarticulate noise to see you off. On the way out of the main building, you saw that the security had already tightened considerably, pleasantly surprised.

 

It wasn't until a few days passed that you began to catch on to a feeling of general unease, but you couldn't put your finger on the source of it. Not until a guard aggressively interrogated you on your way to the living quarters did you begin to get a real sense of what was putting people off. Now that you were honing in on it, you began to see subtle intimidation of the workers, their anxiety and building fear.

 

A casual mentioning of the professionalism of the guards to your superior didn't seem to have any effect, and you weren't sure what you could do about that. Shield was stretched thin, barely functional, you knew, it wasn't just a matter of transferring people or a simple reprimanding.

 

You could not have possibly known how twisted and wrong the situation really was, not until you saw Captain America walking down a hallway, flanked by armed guards, and what could only be described as an illusion melting away. The red, white and blue shimmered and shifted, revealing a familiar loathsome red and black logo stretched across his chest. There was an even bigger problem then, that wasn't Steve Rogers.

 

Keeping your head ducked down, your arms wrapped around a box, you held very still and listened to orders being barked out by a dead man. Commander Brock Rumlow, Hydra traitor, was a casualty at DC. Brock Rumlow also had never dreamed of being so tall either, he was the human equivalent of a battering ram. Your mind reeled, trying to make sense of it all while you registered a few distant gunshots.

 

People resisted, but not many. Hydra had wrapped its tentacles thoroughly around each employee before they made their move. Incentive programs, they called it. Work for us, cause no trouble or your loved ones die. Those who didn't have strings or anything to be leveraged against them, they were quickly disappearing. You heard them struggle in the night. Your turn was coming.

 

You wanted a new mission, to get back into the action, but this wasn't how you envisioned it. Already you donned a disguise, erased yourself from the books and superimposed a hastily crafted new you: a janitor. High access, low profile position. It only had to work for long enough for you to get the message out: Hydra isn't gone. Help us.

 

It was almost too easy, in retrospect. Getting into the comm array and sending the signal out to the Avengers tower, the only people you knew to be untouched by Hydra. When all you got back was radio silence, that was when you started to worry. Faced with a lack of options, you reached out to old contacts, slipping into the comm room between shifts and hastily firing off messages of warning and calls for help.

 

Someone finally responded. Another agent, hiding here in the compound.

 

_Meet me in sublevel 6, 0300, tonight. Signal is 3 taps._

 

You could collapse with relief, knowing that you weren't the only one out there still fighting. The rest of the day was intense, keeping up that facade of nervous-but-compliant while being suitably invisible. Above all else, you avoided the altered Rumlow at all costs. If he recognized you...you didn't want to finish the thought.

 

Subterfuge was never your forte, though you were versed in it. Sneaking past the guards posted in the sleeping quarters was a challenge, to say the least. Your heart beat out a nervous rhythm in your chest as you reentered the main compound and snuck into an elevator. Sublevel 6, 3 minutes to spare.

 

Your fingers itched to caress a gun, but all you managed was a kitchen knife strapped to the small of your back in an ill-fitting sheath. There was no chance to get into the armory.  So many things could go wrong, well, more wrong than they already had, you supposed. Swallowing at the knot in your throat as the door dinged open, you stepped into the office room.

 

It was of older design, red brick pillars spread out across the room, punctuated by rows of tables and chairs. This place was unused currently, not enough people to staff it. Your eyes narrowed as you side stepped away from the elevator door and tried to get a bead on your ally.

 

Not seeing anyone but not believing you were alone, you rapped your knuckles against the wall 3 times in quick succession.

 

A familiar form shifted from behind one of the thick brick pillars and your shoulders sagged with relief. "Am I ever glad to see you," you said, smiling and taking a step towards Agent Shephard. That smile fell as you saw his expression.

 

His face twisted, coming to an unspoken decision before he rasped out in a voice hoarse from screaming, "run."

 

Your eyes widened as a sick crunch rang out, the tip of a knife protruding from his white shirt, rapidly staining red. Your hand flew to the small of your back, grasping your own knife as he fell to the ground, dead or on the way to it.

 

"Nice to see you again, trainee. Or should I say, Agent?" Brock Rumlow casually stepped over the corpse of your coworker, bloody knife in hand and a smile on his face.

 

Your free hand slapped the elevator button as you pulled your kitchen knife free and got laughed at for your effort. He always had that air of casual menace about him that you attributed to a seasoned veteran who had to command people, before you knew the truth of it. Now? He loomed large as he took a languid step towards you. "Traitor," you hissed, rage simmering, "what did you do to Rogers?"

 

"Rogers was given something that he never deserved to begin with," he crooned, fingering his knife as he came to a halt a good distance away. "It's mine now."

 

Jesus. A Hydra agent with Erskine's serum? _Rumlow_ with it? You paled at the thought, and the reality. There was no other way to explain what you were seeing. Rumlow had to be a foot taller than he used to be, muscled and deadly from head to toe. You slapped the button one more time in frustration, suddenly certain that it just wasn't coming.

 

"You couldn't beat me back then, you definitely can't beat me now," he smirked. Cocky asshole.

 

That was what you called him, back when you were a trainee in a mixed Strike team training exercise. Not to his face, but he heard it. He fed you a large helping of humble pie on the mat that day. Letting out a slow, resigned breath, you fell into a combat stance with your kitchen knife and growled, "I'll never serve Hydra."

 

"You already have, sweetheart," he sneered, "you were made the second I saw you. All those calls you sent out? Thanks for helping us find everyone. And you'll keep finding them too," he took one step towards you, threatening, "whether you want to or not doesn't matter. You will comply."

 

For a hot second, you thought about turning the knife on yourself. Shaking it off, you stepped forwards, falling into a slow, circling dance with him, a table in between. That you'd been used so easily made you feel sick. How many people had you contacted? Too many. Too many people who were now dead, getting hunted down or being tortured. "Make me, you sick fuck."

 

He bared his teeth at you and lashed out with his free hand, sending the table flying across the room in one violent swipe.

 

Startled but not thrown off entirely, you used his removal of the barrier to launch your attack, ducking under the desk and lunging with a primal cry.

 

His boot came up, reflexes faster than any man ought to have, and caught you at the chest. The table clattered to the floor, obfuscating the sound of his attack, but you felt in fine detail your ribs being forced inwards while your breath was shoved out. Stunned by the power of the strike, you observed in a strange state how he charged after you while you were still flying, right before you crashed into the wall with an audible thud.

 

Sucking in a wretched gasp as you landed on your knees, you lashed out as he came within range, desperately trying to recover but granted no reprieve. "This is how I remember you," he said. His foot stomped down on the knife, pinning it to the ground as his hand swept down and clamped around your neck, yanking you up off your feet and disarming you at the same time.

 

Disoriented, you struggled for breath and to push him back, kicking with your legs while trying to pry his thumb loose from your neck with both hands. Your vision dimmed as he slammed you against the wall. He pressed his weight into you, pinning you firmly in place, head to toe. "Right where you've always belonged in the order of things: at the bottom," he growled into your ear.

 

Looking over his shoulder, you saw the cooling corpse of your comrade laying in his own blood and saw red. In a snap gesture, you tore a hand free and grasped his face, jabbing your thumb into his eye viciously. He snarled and pulled away instantly, hand loosening from your throat enough that you writhed out of his grip and landed on your feet.

 

Before you could do more than punch his kidney, he recovered. Throwing his arm across your torso when you tried to slip away and smashing you back into the wall. "I should pull you apart," he hissed, sheathing his knife and getting both his hands on your arms, shaking you like a dog with a toy.

 

Gasping for air still, you tried to headbutt him but were tugged out of range, each kick of your legs letting him squeeze up against you closer. When he slotted between your legs completely you froze in shock. Was he hard? Your downwards glance made him grin and press just a little harder in response.

 

"You are the only trainee who ever cocked off to me, you know that?" He said in a conversational tone, voice roughening as he continued, "I had to play nice back then. Not now." One arm shifted up, forearm coming beneath your chin and pressing firmly, tilting your head back and restricting your airflow again.

 

Hydra wasn't known for all the nice things it did to people, but it never occurred to you that this was an option. Staring into Rumlow's dark eyes as he gyrated against you confirmed that it really was happening. Training faded away, animal fear taking its place shamefully fast as you pressed at his chest with your hands, just trying to make space.

 

"I'm going to tie you to a post, naked," he said with malevolent glee, "you'll be an example." A groan escaped him and you felt his cock jolt at the idea of it all. "Don't know how Rogers never spent all his time fucking," he muttered as his free hand grasped at your belt.

 

Your heart raced and you fought to keep your breathing from being deep gasps. "You aren't half the man Steve Rogers is, you're a pathetic monst-" the slap was not a surprise, but it still hurt and shocked. Your cheek was pressed into the wall, eyes shut tight against the sharp throb across the rest of your exposed face.

 

He tore your pants and underwear down with a few sharp jerks. "Fuck puppets don't speak unless spoken to."

 

As his belt hit the floor, you vaguely realized you could have made a grab for his knife but it was well out of reach now and you were pinned in place. Face flush from a bombardment of emotion, restricted air flow and the ringing slap, you tried again to shove at him. He may as well have been made of granite, for all that budged him.

 

"Maybe I'll let you see Cap sometime," he licked his lips as he unzipped his pants and freed his straining cock, eyes blown wide with lust, "he's definitely less than half of me nowadays." Wrapping his hand around his shaft, he guided it between your legs and rubbed. His skin felt scalding hot as he pressed the blunt head against your opening, threatening.

 

You couldn't see, but he felt big. It wasn't fair. You bared your teeth and bit the inside of your cheek, trying to not cry as your hands grasped at the arm pinning you at the neck. Fingertips digging into the coarse hairs of his forearm, you squeezed as hard as you could in response when he started to press into you, wanting desperately for him to feel pain instead of pleasure. At least, somewhere out there, Steve Rogers was alive.

 

Pressed just inside you, he paused and huffed, hot breath hitting your face. "Tight. I can hear you tearing," he growled, free hand grasping at your thigh and squeezing it so hard you made a strangled sound and kicked out, only succeeding in helping him get deeper.

 

When your eyes opened against the initial pain, he was staring down at you intensely. Getting off on your facial expressions as you fought back tears, you realized. With a roll of his hips, you heard your insides audibly tearing too, knife hot pain accompanying it. Letting out a choked animal cry, you let go of his forearm and grasped a fistful of his dark hair, clenching it tight.

 

It had the opposite effect. A low, rumbling groan reverberating through him as he jerked forwards and sheathed himself to the hilt inside you, making you shout. "You can't hurt me," he said, the arm under your neck sliding down until he was grasping your hips and ass with both hands, breathing heavily.

 

Freed to speak easy, you tugged on his hair and gripped his shirt. "Someone will," you hissed, teeth bared and eyes wild.

 

Shaking his head slowly, he smirked, confident. "You picked the wrong side," he said, right before he bucked his hips into yours with a grunt and slammed you into the wall.

 

"Ah!" You cried, curling forwards as he began to fuck you in earnest, your grip on his hair faltering until you were just clinging and trying to survive the experience. Tears tracked down your red, flushed face when he grabbed the hair at the back of your head and tugged you back so he could see what he was doing to you.

 

His hips stuttered and he made a strangled noise, going still and pressing deep as he throbbed and filled you with wet warmth.

 

Sucking in a breath, you let out an incredulous laugh as you looked up at him. He'd lasted what, three minutes? "Maybe you'll just embarrass yourself to death," you croaked.

 

Breathing steadying quickly, his glare morphed into a smug look when he shifted his hips, quirking a brow as your face fell. He was still hard, dragging inside you and now lubed with his own cum. His fist clenched in your hair and forced you to look downwards slowly. A sick feeling settled in your stomach when you saw the blood.

 

In a flash, he pulled himself free from you and swung you around, marching towards a table until you were slammed down against it. You struggled, kicked and even bit on the way before the air was knocked from your lungs. He grasped your pants and ripped them clean in half, one hand at the small of your back to keep you pinned in place until the article of clothing was rags at his feet.

 

"Just getting started," he said before easing back into you, tossing his head back and closing his eyes at the sensation and extra depth afforded by the position.

 

Gripping at the table, you clenched your teeth and quietly cried, forcing your eyes shut when you realized you were faced towards the dead agent. If Rumlow had decided to not kill you, it was a boon, you tried to reason. If you were alive, you could scheme, escape and fight.

 

It wasn't too long, when his thrusting was making the table inch forwards and pinching your legs, that you were wishing to change positions with the dead man.

 

**24 Hours Later  
**

 

You weren't sure where Rumlow managed to get a collar. In fact, it looked a lot like the high powered magnetic handcuffs that Shield liked to use, but it was wide enough for your neck and there would be no busting out of it. After he was finished with you, he personally dragged you through the facility and out on to the gravel of the compound where you were shackled at the neck, hooked up to a heavy chain and posted to the ground like a disobedient dog. To make matters worse, he tore all your clothes apart and left you naked and shivering, barely conscious, to be discovered by your coworkers in the early morning.

 

Seeing everything through a foggy haze, you still wouldn't forget the few horrified faces you saw while laying there, how the armed guards wouldn't let anyone near you and how your legs were sealed shut with dried blood and semen. That evening, you registered the crunching of gravel under boots but couldn't turn your head to check, only crack your sore eyes open.

 

"I brought you a little something," Rumlow said, awfully perky sounding as he crouched down beside you, an object in his hands and a grin on his face.

 

A phone, you realized as you swallowed, trying to wet your dry mouth.

 

His thumbs shifted across the screen for a few seconds before he turned it to face you. At your slowly dawning look of confusion, he chuckled. "See that?" He pointed at an empty space between buildings in the shown image. "Avengers tower. Gone."

 

Your brows furrowed, reading the headline. Blown up? No. Just there one day and gone the next, a crater where it used to be. Lips parting, you weren't sure what to say. A heavy feeling of despair was settling inside you.

 

With a flick of his finger, another news headline and image appeared. Wakanda. Gone. How could an entire country be gone? Every time he swapped to a new one, it just got worse, until you couldnt see because your eyes were full of tears. Were all the heroes dead?

 

"That's right," he purred, finally pocketing the phone and giving you a condescending pat on the head. "Even if you could escape sweetheart, there's nothing out there but us," he grinned wickedly, "welcome to the new world."

 

"You won't win," you sighed and closed your eyes, sagging in exhaustion. There was a good chance he'd severely damaged your insides, you might not be long for the world anyway.

 

"Already have," he said, a fist curling around your chain, "and did you forget? You're going to help us find those who remain. Did I fuck that little bit of information out of you?" With a tug you were on your feet, dangling like a puppet.

 

So much for not getting medical attention.

 


	22. Peace is a Dream (Reader/Rollins)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rebel War/Dystopia AU  
> RebelSoldier!Reader SuperSoldier!Rollins  
> TAGS: Macro/micro, size kink, height difference, violence, war, some world building, good guys are losing, intimidation, vivid fear, despair, injury, prisoner of war(kinda)  
> Summary:  
> Reader is a soldier in the beleaguered rebel army and the Amazon rain forest is possibly their last stand against the companies that have taken over the world and enslaved the people. HYDRA is a company that is well known for their disruptive spies and massive, terrifying super soldiers. STRIKE Alpha is the worst batch of them all.

Every time you surrendered to sleep, that night came rushing back.

 

_Two impossibly large hands caught your arms from behind and pinned them to your rifle, pulling you off your feet and crashing your body against one that made you feel like a toddler. This is death, you thought, paralyzed with fear, until the stubble of an unshaven face scraped against the side of yours._

 

_"Lucky you," the voice of your would-be murderer said in a smooth baritone._

 

_You whimpered, swallowing at the lump of despair in your throat and trying to think of something, anything, to save yourself._

 

_Gunfire sounded over your comm, panicked voices shouting into the void about how the leader of Bravo company was just shot dead and how the encampment had been found. You were the only one not there and you were in no shape to help._

 

_"Time for you to go, cutie," your captor said, pressing a kiss to the side of your stunned face before slowly setting you on your feet, even letting go of your gun. "And not the way you came from," he amended._

 

_You turned your head and regarded him. Full camo, at least 8 feet tall and better geared than half your company combined, this was one of the infamous biotech soldiers alright. His tag read Rollins, you saw with your night vision. This situation was not possible, biotech soldiers did not break protocol._

 

_When you turned to leave, he slapped your ass and sent you running._

 

Inhaling sharply, your eyes opened, jarred awake. Sometimes, in the dream, you made it to the STRIKE base and escaped on the quinjet, but not always. The sweltering heat and humidity of the amazon did not help the sleeping situation any, nor did being on the ground under a home made lean-to.

 

You squinted, eyes adjusting to the natural gloom. It was perpetually dark this deep in the jungle, nobody ever mentioned that, the canopy shrouding the sun so perfectly it often felt like night time. Others were moving around quietly, dealing with their tasks or keeping watch.

 

It wouldn't hurt to get started on yours a little early, the heavy knot of dread in your stomach wasn't going anywhere anyways.

 

You quietly maneuvered your way to the command tent, hoping Hawkeye would be there to brief you. The man probably slept less than you, you never saw him asleep. Maybe that's why he shirked formality and opted for nicknames, he'd gone crazy. _Wouldn't be the first one to_ , you thought grimly as you slipped into the dark green tent.

 

"Up early," he noted, "eager to get started?" Heavy bags rested under his eyes, he looked like a racoon, utterly exhausted. His state was a reflection of Romeo battalion: on the verge of falling apart.

 

Swiping stray sweaty strands of hair off your forehead, you nodded. God, it was like breathing hot water, the humidity was so bad. "Sooner I get back, the sooner we can make our move," you said.

 

Looking up from the rudimentary map on his table, he regarded you quietly for a moment. "This is the last battleground, you know. All the Corps want it," his voice had lowered, just for you.

 

"Hydra will be here," you said. Were it not for being profusely sweaty already, your nervous sweat would have given away your inner turmoil. "STRIKE Alpha, at the very least."

 

"Can you handle this, scout?" His head tilted forwards, shading his eyes dramatically until all that remained was pools of shadow.

 

"I have to. We have to," you said. It was no secret that those who remained in the resistance were regarding this as not just the last battlefield, the last place free of the Corps stripping everything away for money, it was also the last battle. There were no fighting men and women left out there, if Romeo went down.

 

Romeo battalion was already made up of the remains of all the other rebel forces.

 

"You're right," he admitted, looking back down and drawing your attention with a calloused finger on the paper. "They could be anywhere out there, STRIKE Alpha, other Corps assets, who knows," he wet his lips with a dart of his tongue, "but I want you to start here."

 

You watched and listened intently as he marked out your path, comitting it to memory. No written coords were to ever leave a camp, it was too dangerous. The enemy had far superior technology, getting better every year, while the rebels waned and floundered.

 

God only knew how old your rifle was.

 

"Dismissed. Good luck," Hawkeye said, eyeing you as you saluted and left.

 

Being the only survivor of a STRIKE Alpha attack had given others an overly high opinion of your skills, you found. That Hawkeye regarded you as a normal person with normal person capabilities still was a relief, even if you desperately wished to be the superhuman everyone else seemed to think you were. You saw the looks as you passed by, your presence gave them hope that shouldn't be there.

 

This scouting mission was going to last several days, you estimated. The terrain was inhospitable, the heat unbearable and above all that you had to not starve, find the enemy, gauge their numbers and make it back alive without being detected. You packed accordingly, feeling the burden of all the extra supplies keenly before saying a few curt goodbyes and heading out.

 

A tingle ran down your spine when you crept out of the encampment, the spectre of a giant looming over you. You'd long since toned down the paranoid snaps of your head to quick glances over your shoulder. Engulfed in the forest, you grimly settled on your task and began the march.

 

With a compass and unmarked map, you paused for breaks that felt too frequent but were necessary to keep your energy at a respectable level. Your first goal was a strategically sound area, a deep woods naturally protected by three mountainous protrusions that could also be used to land on. A river ran through that area, fed by a spring coming out of one of those mountains. It was so ideal you honestly wondered why Hawkeye hadn't chosen it for his own battalion.

 

Drenched in sweat, you discovered the river late in the evening. All around you was the sounds of the jungle and your harsh breathing, nothing else. The lack of any man made noise fed the tension in your guts as you cautiously broke through the brush, crouching down beside a fallen log for a little extra cover while you made to refill your canteen.

 

A branch snapping was all the warning you had before you ducked and shoved yourself under the log as quietly as you could, hand on your ka-bar knife and heart in your throat. Heavy footsteps and soft chatter filled your ears as men filtered out of the woods. You silently cursed the jungle and everything in it, how close had they been to stumbling on you and for how long? So much for being a scout.

 

They were blessedly on the opposite side of the log, obscured from your view but more importantly you were hidden from them. You counted 6 regular men and your heart palpitated in stress when a seventh set of footsteps suggested a biotech soldier, far heavier than the rest. You'd never been up close with them before.

 

Well, except for the one encounter, anyway. Everything you'd ever heard about them was terrifying, and you'd seen them from afar too, you believed all of it.

 

"How far off are we?" One said with the voice of someone who replaced most meals with cigarettes.

 

Someone came to stand behind your log and you grit your teeth when liquid splattered against the dirt alarmingly close to your head. Great, you were going to be soaked in sweat _and_ piss by the time this was over.

 

"Ask Bento, he's the one with the built in radar," another sneered.

 

Easing your knife from its sheath, you clenched it tight as a boot thunked against the wood over your head, sending little bits of debris down to sting your eyes. Bento was the bio then.

 

Someone spat. "5 klicks north, up the river," Bento's voice took on a teasing tone, "you've been struggling all day, Mahone, do you need me to carry you?"

 

"Fuck off, we're not all test tube babies. You were a baby, right?" Mahone, you assumed, said as he got laughed at.

 

"Nope, born ready to fuck," Bento said. Apparently it was all in good nature because they were back to moving, heading north up the river like they said. A base up there, then.

 

You crawled out of your hiding place once it was clear and made a quiet disgusted noise before washing your hands. You now had a decision to make, which you thought about as you filled your canteen and put a few drops of cleanser in it. Night would fall soon and you knew where they were, if you could deal with them – at least the regular men – that would be a boon for your side.

 

It didn't take much thought on your part, you needed to scout their base out and get a read on their numbers either way. If you saw an opportunity you'd take it. That didn't stop you from puking from sheer nerves before you began to stalk after them, though.

 

To your surprise, you found yourself on a ridge above the group as they settled into a camp for the night. Mahone actually slowed them down enough that Bento called the camp, apparently there was no rush on their part. You chewed your lips to ribbons as you watched them, calculating.

 

The bio was the issue, your gaze flickered over him as he took up guard. They already said he had built in radar, he could have any number of enhancements. Not that they needed any, you thought bitterly, he made the rest look like ants as he lit up a cigarette and swiped sweat from his forehead.

 

Cautious of noise and very aware of your limbs shaking with nerves, stomach roiling, you put down your hefty backpack and freed your knife, rifle over your shoulder. If Bento had heat or motion detection he would have caught you out already, you reasoned. No, he was relaxed more than he should be and you were going to kill his traitor friends for it, then gun him down too.

 

Pumping yourself up, you took one long, slow breath before slipping through the foliage like a ghost. It was much easier without the pack. The 6 men were scattered around, snoring gently, comfortable with using rocks for pillows as every soldier was at this point.

 

You approached from the far end of the camp, opposite of Bento, and clamped your hand down over an unshaven face at the same time as you sliced his throat. A spray of arterial blood caught you in the cheek as you sat on his chest and forced him into stillness as he panicked, weakened, then stilled.

 

A glance showed this was Private Hollinger, a part of the A.I.M. company. It was partly good news: AIM would fight Hydra just as surely as it would fight Romeo Battalion. Pitting them against one another before either found you would be a different kind of trick, however.

 

It was surreal, idly plotting how to set two groups of people to murdering one another while you crept through a camp and assassinated a group of men who'd never laid eyes on you before. Not that they deserved mercy. Over time you lost all your reservations fighting against these men and women, traitors to the last.

 

At least the bio tech soldiers were man made, they were tools. Everyone else? They willingly sold their souls to companies for what, food and shelter? Barely, you thought, baring your teeth as you stared Mahone in his terrified eyes, right before they went glassy and the struggle ended.

 

One left, and he was propped up against the tree that Bento was leaning against, hands folded together in his lap and head sagged to the side. It was risky, getting anywhere within grabbing distance of Bento. These bio soldiers had enhanced everything.

 

Your legs felt like they had filled with lead as you crept towards the last soldier, intent on your mission now, despite the sheer terror clawing at your insides. The giants really did terrify you and as you stood on the opposite side of the tree from him there was a sobering moment where you, as a grown ass adult, realized your head came up to this monsters belly button.

 

On autopilot, you crouched over the last man, Smith, you noted his nametag. Copper was heavy in your nose and your eyes widened as he grunted softly and began to stir, the change in scents setting off some natural survival instinct. As his eyes opened you lunged, driving your knife up through his throat and into his skull as you clamped your hand over his mouth.

 

Too late, it was all wrong. A shout of alarm went out as Bento's cigarette went flying and he rounded on you, letting out a thunderous snarl as he took in the view of all his men dead and you straddling the still twitching remains of the last one.

 

All the breath left your lungs as you stared up at him, fear arresting your limbs and leaving you paralyzed. Your grip on the knife loosened as your mental grip failed, pulled sharply back to that night you were caught and powerless.

 

An unholy noise, something feral and wild that screamed _you killed my men_ boiled up from Bento as his face twisted in rage and he made to lunge at you.

 

As he lunged past the tree, another massive figure crashed into him so hard the trunk shook and shoved a hoarse shout out of Bento. Instantly, he was locked in combat for his life, distracted from you.

 

Shocked from your stupor, mostly, you gasped and rolled aside, barely avoiding a boot that would have crushed your torso like you used to pop chip bags. Grunts and heavy thuds from exchanged blows were barely audible past your heart thundering as you staggered to your feet and backpedaled, getting some much needed distance as you fumbled at your rifle.

 

It was another bio soldier, that much was obvious. They were locked in close combat, grappling and deflecting with blows that would crush normal men, knives in hand. It was too dark to get more detail than see them shifting around and hear their brutish, grunting exchange.

 

Your numb hands curled around your rifle, raising it towards them. They were both enemies, they needed to die. The best time would be directly after one killed the other.

 

All it took was one small shift, you vaguely saw it, where the new soldier lifted his leg and kicked Bento in the knee solidly. The crunch was audible but Bento's reaction was muted, a testament to the kind of punishment his kind could take, but he did shift to compensate. That was all the weakness the other needed.

 

One sharp gesture and Bento was thrown off balance, gasping as he was thrown back and the enemy surged inwards. You heard several meaty thunks and saw them both jerking around before you realized Bento was being stabbed repeatedly. Swallowing the knot in your throat, you raised the barrel of the rifle and took aim.

 

In the time it took for you to hesitantly brush your finger against the trigger, he threw Bento to the ground and lunged at you. Absurdly fast for his size, you severely underestimated the reach of his legs on top of that. With a sharp kick his foot connected with the rifle and your hand, knocking it out of your grip and forcing a yowl of pain out of you.

 

Spinning with his kick, he shifted feet and kicked you clean in the chest. You might as well have walked behind a spooked horse. From standing to on your back in a blink, you tried to pull in a breath and couldn't, one hand curled up to your chest as you let out a panicked wheeze, trying to make your lungs work.

 

With the gun disabled he relaxed, pausing over you as you trembled in agony. His boots were on either side of you, ready to finish stomping your lights out. “That you, Cutie?” His head tilted.

 

It didn't feel like you were getting air, between the panic and the pain, but your chest was heaving and you were making inarticulate noises. When he squatted down over you and grasped the edge of your helmet, tugging it back to get a better look at you, you weren't sure if you were lucky or not. It really was Rollins.

 

“Shit,” he muttered, recognizing you, “good thing I didn't kick you too hard.”

 

While you strongly disagreed, you couldn't quite get the words out. He was still holding your helmet up, looking you over.

 

“If I didn't watch you kill all those men, I'd think you got by purely on making doe eyes whenever you got caught,” he said lightly.

 

“Rollins,” you said in a strangled gasp, “my ribs.”

 

He sighed and carefully pulled your curled up hands away from your chest, “you were aiming a gun at me,” he said. Probing at your ribs, he kept you pinned in place with one hand across your sternum while he worked. “Nothing broken, probably a lot of cracked ones though.”

 

Well, he wasn't killing you and you were utterly wrecked. Exhausted and in full body pain, you closed your eyes and focused on just getting your breathing back under control. The warm, heavy hand pulled off and you felt his footsteps through the ground as he walked away.

 

When you heard a sick squelch, you cracked open an eye and wished you hadn't. Rollins was regarding Bento's severed head in his hand before tossing it aside. “What the fuck?” You hissed.

 

“They're AIM,” he said in a patronizing tone as he moved to the next body, “if any of them have been treated with Extremis, they will regenerate. You don't want that, they tend to be really angry at that point.”

 

It was the first time you heard of such a thing but you kept that to yourself. This guy might be malfunctioning enough to give you mercy but he was still a tool of Hydra, a construct. Any information you gave could be used against you and you weren't about to forget what happened with the quinjet and the destruction that followed.

 

“H-how-” you struggled to speak, rolling to your side and partially propping yourself up, not liking the pain that radiated through your entire torso and into your arms one bit.

 

Finishing his grim work, he tossed the last head carelessly into the brush and turned to face you. “We need to move,” he said.

 

While he was right, you weren't sure you could do more than curl up and die and you were even less sure about this _we_ stuff. A startled sound escaped you when he swooped in and picked you up in his arms like an afterthought, snatching up your gun quickly too. It seemed you didn't have much of a say in this matter.

 

Folded up against his chest, supported by one thick arm, you closed your eyes and sighed in defeat. “My bag-” your voice came out extra soft due to your shallow breaths.

 

“I know where it is,” he cut you off and started walking at a brisk pace, “you practically handed it to me.”

 

A tingle of fear ran up your back, skin pebbling with goosebumps at the idea of him just _standing there_ and you not noticing him somehow. This situation was going into the shitter faster than you could adjust for. Although being carried around would have been nice, were it not for every step sending a jab of pain through your body.

 

Quieter than anyone his size had a right to be, he crept through the underbrush with you in one hand and your rifle in the other until he unerringly brought you back to your pack. It lay where you put it, seemingly untouched. He put you on your feet gently, like how you might handle an injured bird, and you slid to your knees, hunching over the bag and huffing.

 

Moving behind you, he rustled around until you heard and felt a _thunk_ at your side. A glance showed the vague impression of a huge backpack. Night was setting in fully now and you were near blind, you wouldn't be going anywhere soon, even though you wanted to. “Thanks,” you muttered, hoping this would be the end of your exchange.

 

He knelt down beside you and began to deftly pick through his bag, detaching his bedroll and shattering any hopes of him wandering off. “Don't normally get thanked for caving in peoples chests. Well, not by the people I kick anyway,” he said wryly, sitting down beside you on his bedroll. “Nobody around, get some sleep.”

 

With one hand, your other was essentially dead and you weren't convinced something wasn't broken there, you tugged out your bedroll and fumbled it open until you could dump yourself to your back on it. His presence was a solid thing that you found disturbingly comforting. It was that he saved your life and spared you previously, you decided, that had fostered these confusing feelings.

 

The familiar crinkle of an MRE packet pulled you out of your near-sleep a few minutes later and you laid there listening to him eat. Your stomach rumbled loudly, reminding you that you never did. It could wait. “Why did you save me, if you didn't know who I was?” You wondered out loud.

 

“If they were all Extremis, might have been hard to handle if I just charged in. Big guy would've killed you easily so I caught him by surprise so I could kill him easier, you weren't a threat and I let you do the dirty work,” he said matter-of-factly.

 

Tamping down on indignant anger, you simmered for a minute. You were trying to do literally the same thing when he was fighting Bento. And when you thought about it, you hesitated to attack even believing that both of those soldiers were unknowns. It was a hard pill to swallow, admitting to being a coward.

 

“None of the rebels are,” he said around a mouthful of food.

 

“At least we're willing to lay our lives down for a better future,” you snapped. Criticism of the rebels was always a touchy subject for you, you couldn't help it.

 

His chuckle riled you further. “How's that going for you?”

 

“It isn't about winning,” you huffed, closing your eyes against the pain, “it's about doing what's right and sticking with it.”

 

He chewed for a minute before swallowing audibly. “Winning is better,” he said.

 

“What would you know, you're a-” you bit back the slur, chomping it down with a clack of your teeth. Angering the 8 foot tall super soldier who was a part of the STRIKE team most well known for their brutality was not a good plan, passionate about your cause or not.

 

“What am I?” He said softly, leaning over you, daring you to finish.

 

“You aren't free,” you muttered, cheeks red. More red from your bodily reaction to his response than anything, you were instantly aware of the arousal his lowered voice and position over you instilled in you. A coward with a confusing, highly taboo crush, apparently.

 

“What do you know about me, Cutie? About anything?” He sneered then, dumping the remains of his MRE on your chest and making you full body cringe. “Tell you what I know. With AIM to the north, there's only one place the rebel camp can be.”

 

Falling silent, you gripped the bag of food in one hand, lips sealing shut. You weren't going to give him anything, let him guess at the truth. Problem was, it really was true.

 

“The only reason why the rebels weren't wiped out years ago, Cutie, is because you're scapegoats for the companies.” He seemed to press in on you from the dark, an antagonizing giant. “We kill each other all the time and blame the rebels so we don't have to go to war with one another. What little damage you do to any of the companies? A small price to pay.”

 

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes and the MRE suddenly felt like it weighed a ton, making it even harder to breathe. His words had the sting of truth to them. What could you even say?

 

Rollins seemed to be on a bit of a roll though, he had plenty to say. One thick arm passed over you and planted down at your side, letting him fully lean over you and get close. “And you? I saw you, this little thing playing at soldier, barely big enough for your gear and I pitied you.” Hot breath hit your face. “You were so scared.”

 

Closing your eyes, you forced yourself to not sniff like an upset child. “I can kill a man,” you said, voice tight with emotion, “but I can't win against a machine.”

 

Your hair, held in a dirty braid, shifted as he ran a finger over it. His face was so close to yours. “I thought it wasn't about winning?” Of course he'd throw that back in your face. The teasing tone in his voice shifted then to something deeper, shockingly sensual. “I am a man,” he said, right before his lips touched yours.

 

Eyes popping open, you gasped and he dipped his tongue along your lips in response. He tasted like bland food, but his lips were soft and his low groan sent a jolt of arousal straight through you. Surprising yourself with an answering moan, you laid there and tasted one another, his stubble rasping against your cheeks and chin as your combined breathing got more feverish.

 

When he gripped your shoulder with a hand and you let out a yelp of pain into his mouth, he pulled back and took a deep, steadying breath. It was a good thing he remembered you were injured, because you'd forgotten all about it. He swallowed audibly before shoving the MRE bag into your hand. “Eat and sleep,” he said hoarsely.

 

Not entirely in your right mind, you nodded in silent agreement and shifted around as he pulled away, trying to use your backpack for support until he moved in response and dragged your bedroll, and you, closer to the trunk of the tree. He even helped you sit up.

 

His spoon was still in the bag and it was so big you likened it to the giant spoons your mother used for baking, once upon a time. You were coping with the change of situation by doing your best to think about anything but what happened. He had shrugged his arm over you, fitting you neatly between his body and the limb, supporting your sides as you worked on your meal.

 

It was impossible to ignore. Every thought you forcefully directed found its way back to the man who was quietly watching you eat the remains of his food. “This doesn't make any sense,” you finally said between licking off the spoon. It tasted pretty good, way better than the rations the rebels were running off of nowadays.

 

Arm shifting around you, giving you a little squeeze, one of his calloused fingertips stroked at the outside of your thigh through your pants. “What doesn't?” He seemed truly unperturbed about this entire situation.

 

Placing the empty bag aside and tossing the spoon on top of it, you leaned back and closed your eyes, exhausted but thankfully no longer hungry. Well, hungry for food. A throb between your legs made you grit your teeth in frustration. “Mercy isn't exactly programmed into you. Neither is... desire,” you muttered, face flushing all over again.

 

“I'm not programmed,” he said, “I told you, I'm a man.”

 

“No such thing as an 8 foot tall man,” you huffed.

 

“I'm one of the originals. Volunteered for the program if severely injured, happened before they added all the control words, kill switches, so on.”

 

Your breath froze, you'd never heard of such a thing. That he would willingly put himself through a procedure that had to be beyond painful was something else. A few other anecdotes you'd heard over the years clicked then, the blanks now filled. “STRIKE Alpha are all the originals,” you whispered.

 

“Mhm,” he said.

 

“Why would you tell me?” Your tone became accusatory. Who volunteered information to the enemy?

 

“I could tell you the names and summer homes of every CEO of every company and you couldn't do anything with that information.” He drummed his fingertips against your thigh. “You are no threat and you aren't going to go to another company and tell them anything.”

 

Anger simmered in your bruised chest. “How can I return now? How can you not fear the repercussions of helping me? Of... of _kissing_ me,” you spluttered.

 

“Just sleep,” there was a bite of impatience in his tone, “we'll talk tomorrow.”

 

Frustrated, you shifted around until you were back on the ground, facing upwards and mercifully out of his confusingly comforting grasp. He stretched out beside you, though you couldn't see him anymore. Tomorrow you would wake before him and leave, you decided before exhaustion finally overtook your anxiety.

 

While it was continually dark deep in the rain forest, you had come to learn that the animals and insects were just as bound to cycles as they were outside of it. Exotic birdsong woke you up at the crack of dawn and you suppressed a grunt when you took too deep a breath. Cracking your eyes open, you looked to your left and saw the mountainous form of Rollins still there.

 

His eyes were closed, features relaxed, breathing deep and even. No telling how hard it would be to sneak out of there. You would have to abandon your bedroll, at the very least.

 

Cautiously you sat up, clenching your teeth hard against the pain. God, it felt like your chest really had been caved in. Your mission had to play second fiddle to alerting Hawkeye to what you knew now, you realized. No matter how much this hurt, you had to get back without being followed.

 

Rising unsteadily to your feet, you watched him carefully as you wound your hand through a loop on your backpack. Where did he put your rifle? You wondered, not yet chancing to look away from him. He was as tall as you were while sitting on his ass.

 

Pulling the backpack up and over your shoulders was a special kind of agony, but you shouldered it with grace. His hands were folded together on his lap. This was the first time you'd ever seen him in something approaching proper lighting, you realized. He had handsome features and a ragged scar on his chin that his scruffy facial hair grew around.

 

Taking a slow step away, you cast your eyes around and frowned, not seeing your rifle. His was there though, laid out beside him and as long as you were tall. Those things turned people into confetti, you knew. Cautious, every bit of debris squishing under your boot sounding like an avalanche in your ears, you circled around him and the tree he was leaned against.

 

There it was. Your heart fell when you saw the barrel resting against his back, it probably slipped off the tree while he slept. Not exactly safe firearm practice.

 

Knowing how you yourself woke at the faintest of touches, it was a fair bet that pulling the weight of the rifle off of him would do the same. It wasn't a very long internal debate to leave it behind, there were more important things at stake here.

 

Pulling your small, battered compass out of your pocket, you got your bearings and turned to leave.

 

“Where are you going?” Rollins voice was rough with sleep, but had a note of reprimand in it.

 

Freezing to the spot like a deer in headlights, you slowly turned your head to watch him rise to a stand, up and up. His face did not look friendly. Your heart pounded against your ribs and you involuntarily leaned forwards a degree, cowering while your hand reached for your knife out of pure trained reflex.

 

“Try it,” he said, eyes narrowed.

 

Blinking, you pulled your hand away from the hilt slowly. Swallowing at the knot in your throat, you rasped, “I can't stay with you and I can't let you follow me.”

 

He huffed. “Can't let me huh?”

 

“No,” you grit your teeth, straightening your spine.

 

“Well, _I_ can't let _you_ go running back to your friends until my mission is over,” he smirked, taking one long step towards you and closing the gap. “When it _is_ over, I'll let you go. I think you know who wins here, Cutie.”

 

You refused to crane your head back to look up at him, instead staring at his calloused, dirt encrusted hands. “We're just going to get one another killed,” you tried to reason, licking your lips, “I can't keep up with you. I am injured, I can't even complete my own mission.” Wary of the intense attraction you were feeling, you pinched your thigh covertly, trying to shock some sense into yourself.

 

“My mission is to keep an eye on AIM and report movement, I have a place and will take you there.” His hand came up and cupped your chin, thumb brushing over your lips. “Think of it like a vacation.”

 

Brows furrowing tightly, you held still and met his intense gaze. “Years ago, you told me to go. I did. You followed me and slaughtered everyone.” He's the enemy, you chanted it like a mantra in your head.

 

“I don't recall telling you to steal a quinjet and do a piss poor job of removing all the tracking devices on it,” he smirked. Not a flicker of remorse.

 

Your lip twitched and you bit it to keep it still but you couldn't stop the tears that made your vision swim. “I'm not a traitor,” you said, grasping the hilt of your knife in a quick motion.

 

He had to duck down to catch your hand but he did and disarmed you with comical ease, the knife falling to the forest floor with a pinch and a twist of his fingers. You hissed as he knelt down to get eye level with you and gathered up your arms in one hand, grimacing when he squeezed your deeply bruised wrist. “I'm starting to think you might like being scared and in pain, Cutie,” he said with a glare.

 

Looking him in the eye was hard, you settled for the bridge of his nose instead. “If you really are a man and not some nightmare construct, what excuse do you have? STRIKE Alpha has the worst reputation of all the Hydra operatives and you're telling me you're all formerly regular men?” Your voice sounded emotional and you hated it.

 

His tongue darted across his lips as his gaze darkened. “All the rebels will be killed if you go back, the Commander wont hesitate. That will be on you too, just like last time.”

 

You paled, blinking up at him as tears cut through the dirt on your cheeks. “Why are you warning me?”

 

He let out a slow, vexed breath. “You think it's the end of the world having company towns and food stamps and shit? If the companies go to war because there's no rebels to blame for their backstabbing, _that_ will be the end of the world. I don't want that.”

 

You wanted...a small, choked sound escaped you. You wanted desperately to feel safe and happy again and everything he told you just made it so much more clear that life would never go back to what it was. “I want-” you outright sobbed and tried to tug your arms out of his hand but he wouldn't budge and your breathing became erratic as you panicked.

 

“Shhh,” he pulled you in gently and curled his arms around you, letting you grab at his vest.

 

It was a full on sobbing, snot sniffing meltdown, but you managed to cut it down to quiet clinging within a few minutes. The surge of emotion surprised you, you thought you had been holding together well but clearly your touch starvation was in full control if a little mercy and affection put you in this state.

 

With a gentle pat, he cleared his throat. “I have to get back to my post before base checks up on me,” he said, scooping up your knife and holding it out to you. It looked like a tiny toy in his hand. You weren't sure how you thought for a second you could hurt him with it. “I'll get us there quick and you can rest.”

 

Defeated, you nodded and sheathed the knife, stepping back as he straightened up and went to collect the rifles. Your shoulders sagged at the thought of hiking anywhere, but you stood ready. If he had been aggressive about keeping you captive, you would have responded to this differently, you thought. The idea of attacking him in a vulnerable moment, killing him and escaping did not jive well with you when he wasn't threatening your life.

 

You were weak.

 

He did up your bedroll and hooked it to your backpack for you, for which you muttered a quiet thanks. A bigger surprise was when he turned his back to you and knelt down as low as he could, bent forwards. “C'mon, get on,” he said.

 

“Er,” you faltered. A piggy back ride? What, were you 5?

 

“I can throw trucks,” he smirked over his shoulder at you, “you aren't heavy and there's a lot of ground to cover. Move that ass, Cutie.”

 

There was pride and there was practicality. Pride firmly took a back seat as you climbed up his backpack and folded over it, wrapping your arms around his neck and clinging like a koala. You sucked in a breath when he stood up to his full height quickly, looking up from the distant ground to peer down the front of his shirt instead.

 

“Afraid of heights?” He said wryly as he began the march.

 

“I do prefer to keep my feet on the ground,” you admitted, privately pleased he didn't notice your perving. Obviously he was built, but it was all hidden under the practical military outfit and you were enjoying his defined clavicle and the dip between his chest muscles, which you focused on trying to get a better look at. It was certainly better than focusing on the jolt that went through you with every footstep he took.

 

It was a solid hour hike, which you thought probably would have taken several with your dramatically shorter legs, before you arrived at a minor waterfall that ran down a mossy cliff. “Here we are,” he said, his helmet bumping into yours as he looked up, “hold tight.”

 

He carried you without complaint the entire way, and was going to haul you up a cliff too? Your stomach felt like it was going to eject at the very thought but your arms tightened around his neck in response. “Up there?” You said, even though it was obvious.

 

“Mhm,” he said, already approaching a particularly rocky area.

 

Your breathing picked up and you closed your eyes tight as he reached upwards and grasped. It was well traveled, but you weren't watching to find that out.

 

“I don't fall,” he reassured you while climbing ever higher.

 

“You'd be a pretty crappy super soldier if you did,” you muttered and he huffed a laugh at you. A breeze hit your face and you could have cried in relief, the height brought you above the canopy and gave immediate relief to the sweltering heat of the jungle.

 

So focused on just hanging on for your life, you didn't realize that you had arrived and he was kneeling, waiting for you to get off. He cleared his throat and you sucked in a breath, chancing a look and flushing in embarrassment when he barked a laugh at you and helped you to your feet.

 

It was a natural shelf, you noted after quickly moving a much more respectable distance away from the edge. Water had eroded a small alcove that appeared to be free of the elements, if the dry stone and earth was any indication. Rollins tossed his backpack down there and set the rifles against the rocky wall, quickly stalking back towards the edge and staring off at something, you didn't know what.

 

“Rollins,” he said abruptly, making the hair on the back of your neck rise. He'd raised a hand to the side of his head. “No change, same pattern. Killed a small unit 3 klicks south of the base.”

 

You watched, party to only his half of the rigid conversation. It didn't matter now, you thought, you were injured and half way up a giant cliff. You weren't going anywhere unless Rollins helped you, and that put a hard lump in your stomach.

 

“Confirmed,” he said, lowering his hand and looking over his shoulder at you. His expression was naturally stern, leaning towards terrifying with the help of that scar. You thought you were less afraid of him in the dark.

 

Gulping, you looked away and stiffly removed your backpack, half dragging it into place beside his and pulling out your bedroll. You'd claim a spot and then maybe take in the view, you weren't sure how to approach the deadly, 8 foot tall problem you had. If his Commander wouldn't hesitate to wipe out the rebels...thinking about the consequences of being found out made you shiver.

 

“It gets cold up here, believe it or not,” Rollins said as he approached, ducking down and pulling his bedroll out too. “Put yours along the wall.” He gestured quickly before laying his roll out, positioned so he would be between you and the outdoors.

 

Resting your hands against the wall, you used your feet to move the roll up against it and huffed. You wondered if he was doing that for your benefit, or to make sure you didn't try climbing down. “I have food for three days,” you said as you eased down to the roll, letting out a sigh.

 

“I got plenty,” he said dismissively, settling down until he was propped up on the wall and his legs were splayed out. He unclipped his helmet and placed it aside, running a hand through his close cropped, sweaty hair.

 

Taking his stripping of safety gear off as a good sign, you followed along eagerly. You couldn't help but sigh in relief when cool air hit your soaked, overheated head. Going a step farther, you groaned and leaned forwards, undoing the laces of your boots.

 

“Oh, getting extra comfortable, huh?” He smirked at you.

 

“I'm not going anywhere,” you half shrugged, placing your boot aside and laying your soaked sock over it, repeating the process with the other. “You don't have a comm in your ear,” you said, hoping he'd pick up the conversation and give you a little insight.

 

“Built in, among other things,” he said, eyeing you intently.

 

So he did have mods, you supposed that was how he was keeping track of things that you couldn't even detect, like a base in the distance. You wanted to see if you could see it, so you shoved up to a stand and made to walk over his large legs. Unfortunately he shifted and you tripped, heading face first towards the hard rock. “Hoouff!”

 

One quick swipe and your path was redirected, landing you chest to chest with him, one of his hands spanned across your back. You would have been blushing profusely if you weren't busy with a pained groan and curling forwards out of reflex. “Oops,” he said, smirking and unrepentant.

 


	23. Peace is a Dream 2 (Reader/Rollins *)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rebel War/Dystopia AU  
> RebelSoldier!Reader SuperSoldier!Rollins  
> TAGS: Macro/micro, size kink, height difference, strength kink, rough-yet-careful sex, tenderness, angst, comfort, minor cum play  
> Summary:  
> Reader finds her morals might be more flexible than she was willing to admit. Almost entirely smut.

He did that on purpose, you thought wildly as you planted your hands against his chest and pushed yourself back, glaring right in his eyes. His smile was disarming, a sea of straight white teeth surrounded by scruff, and your perspective shifted in an instant. You were touching him with your entire body, legs split open across his stomach and fingertips digging into pectoral muscles that were not giving an inch.

 

His hand pressed down on the small of your back, sealing you tighter in place.

 

A throaty noise escaped you as your back arched, a burst of pleasure jolting between your legs making your hips rock, chasing the feeling on reflex. As his pupils expanded and nostrils flared, you bit your lip, partly shocked and dismayed at yourself and the rest just unbelievably aroused. “You want me,” you said breathily.

 

Thumb curling around to grip your waist, he tugged you downwards until you ran into the physical representation of his want. Pressing between your ass cheeks, he shifted his hips and made a low, animal sound. All the sudden there was far too much clothing between him and you, and his hands were at the front of your button up camo.

 

Your hands came up and clung at his thick wrists as he tried to undo your buttons, far too tiny for his fingers, you almost closed your eyes and got lost in the exotic feel of such a large lover, how every comparison between your body and his was big verses small, hard versus soft. But when he gave a frustrated grunt and gripped your shirt with the intention of ripping it clean off, you swatted at him quickly. “Let me,” you said.

 

Relinquishing his grip, his hands slid down to grasp your ass and thighs instead, kneading your skin through your pants and rocking you against him. Your brain stuttered at the continual stimulation and you never struggled so badly with your buttons in your life. The second you shrugged the filthy garment off your shoulders he took over and tossed it somewhere, slipping his calloused hands beneath your remaining sleeveless t-shirt.

 

“Knew you were hot under all that shit,” he groaned, scraping his fingertips across your skin, he traveled upwards quickly, the clothing bunching up around his wrists.

 

“Gee thanks,” you snarked, covering up your wince by gripping at the last vestige of your decency and trying to pull it over your head, only to get stuck when your arms didn't want to go farther. He'd gone still. With a sigh, the shirt stuck over your face, you admitted defeat, “help me out of this.”

 

Carefully, you sensed a change in the tone of the situation, he reached up and helped you ease it off, tossing it aside. His eyes took in your bare skin ravenously, locking on your fingers as you pinched the clip between your bra cups and flicked it open. Though you were lacking in layers now, you felt overheated with a combination of excited and apprehensive.

 

He thumbed aside the bra, sliding it off your shoulders and running his fingers over your exposed skin, an appreciative noise escaping him. But his eyes were on something else and when he touched the deepest bruising at the center of your chest, you looked down and understood. “Ah,” you said. His boot print was neatly stamped into your skin, dark and awful looking, surrounded by yellowy, discolored flesh.

 

It seemed his thoughts had wandered off track, because he took one hand off you and reached for his backpack. You glared, grasping a fistful of his jacket and just about growling at him, “you started this. Take it off.”

 

His brows rose up in surprise for a second before he chuckled mirthfully. “I did,” he said, reaching back and starting to pop open the buttons on his own camo. After a little shifting around, you ended up straddled across his thighs as he pried off his own layers.

 

Your throat went dry. It was obvious he was built, shit, he was designed to be, but now that you were looking feverishly at his thick muscles and snaking veins, feeling delirious with want, you realized just how true it all was. And his cock was fully erect, still inside his pants, jutting upwards intimidatingly.

 

His mouth opened, about to say something, before snapping shut when you reached forwards with purpose and wrapped your hands around his organ. It was burning hot even through the layers. “Wait,” he said, taking a slow breath when you glared at him again. He dunked his hand back into his backpack with a note of impatience, rifling around.

 

Resting a hand on your thigh, you realized he could wrap his fingers around it entirely and felt a gush between your legs in response, you watched him hungrily as he chuffed and finally pulled out what he was looking for. A battered white tin with the first aid symbol on it. You quirked a brow.

 

“This stuff is strong, not made for you,” he said as he popped open the tin, putting it down and digging through it, “might make you a bit loopy but it should work good.” He ended up with a small jar of ointment in his palm, regretfully taking his hand off of you to spin it open.

 

A whiff of it made your eyes water, it was definitely intense. “Feeling a little bad about nearly crushing me like a coke can?” You teased, but the tenderness of the gesture caused a surge of emotion in you as he dipped a finger into the jar.

 

“If we're going to play,” his gaze flicked to yours, still heated, “I need to get you back up to par.” There was a small amount spread across his index finger, milky white with a blue tinge, as he screwed the top back on. He engulfed your shoulder with his hand to keep you still, as if you had somewhere to run, and slowly placed the medicated finger between your breasts.

 

“Oh,” you said raggedly, sucking in a sharp breath. As soon as he dragged it downwards the burning began. “Yeah, that hurts,” you whispered, clenching your hands in the fabric of your pants.

 

“Hang in there,” he smirked, adding more fingers to the mix, spreading the thick ointment across your skin.

 

Wincing and jerking under his touch, you otherwise kept still as he trailed fire across your bare torso. It was not your imagination when he flicked your hard nipple with a thumb. “Jesus,” you muttered. Whatever was in this stuff, it was going straight to your head, a sense of euphoria began to sink in, overpowering the pain.

 

“Better?” He eyed you once finished, swiping his finger on his pants a few times.

 

Well, you weren't hurting, that was for sure. Swallowing, you looked up at him and panted, “yeah.”

 

He gave you a smoldering look and he licked his lips, gripping you and tugging you up over his erection and back against his chest. Fumes from the medicine wafted up between you as he sought out your mouth and pulled you into a hungry kiss, your fingers curling at his shoulders eliciting a deep-chested rumble from him. Gasping into his mouth, you wanted more of that, more of him.

 

You became frustrated quickly, between the heady feel of the drug and his attentions heightening your arousal, you were throbbing with need and breathing raggedly. Catching his lip with your teeth, you whispered, “ _more_.”

 

Up until that moment he'd been gentle, even playful, but his whole body tensed under you and your eyes widened at the look that passed over his face. His fingers curled at your back and squeezed your ass, voice dropping to a growl, “you want to get fucked?”

 

“Yes,” you whispered, meeting his eye with chemically induced boldness, a thrill shooting through you.

 

In a swift motion he flipped over with you, covering you completely. He balanced his weight on one thick arm and his knees while fumbling at his belt with his free hand. “You're tiny,” he muttered thickly.

 

You stared up at him, awed. “I thought that was the part you liked,” you said, knowing you were certainly enjoying the reverse. Your hands reached up and stroked over his muscular front while he fished his cock out, jerking his pants and underwear down. “You throw trucks,” you mumbled dazedly, grasping at your own belt in response.

 

“Heh,” he huffed, smirking as he gave his cock a slow stroke and squeeze, watching you wiggle out of your pants. Taking the time to think of the mechanics of the situation, he shuffled forwards until his cock was flush with your soaked cunt, pressing his hips inwards until he was rubbing his throbbing shaft between your labia lips and groaning.

 

Your eyes were glued downwards, mesmerized at the sight as he stroked himself slick against you. His cock was heavy and hot and you needed to feel all of it, your hips rocking upwards desperately. “Please,” your voice cracked.

 

An animal noise escaped him and he paused, grasping his cock and feeling for your entrance. “You like knowing that I have to be careful with you, Cutie? That I'm too strong?” He found it, breath hissing through his teeth as he pressed in.

 

“Oh god,” you gasped, legs spread as wide as they could go and toes curling at the feeling of pressure and heat. “Yes, yes!” You nodded, mouth hanging open as he started bearing down.

 

Balling the bedroll up in his fists, he resisted the urge to just fuck into you enthusiastically and rut to completion. You were so slick and the medicine had no doubt smoothed over any anxious muscle clenching. “This what you think about at night?” He licked his lips, watching your face twist as he sunk in another inch. “When you touch that little pink pussy?”

 

“I've th-thought about you,” your breath hitched as his hips jerked in response, tossing your head back, “since that night.” Your hands shot out and clung to him, fingertips digging into the dips between his muscles like handholds. This was, without a doubt, your darkest fantasy made reality.

 

“I wanted you then too,” he said, voice so deep with arousal you could feel it, “put you up against something and just fuck you.”

 

A little broken sound escaped you as his pubic bone hit your clit and ground against it, his cock fully seated and pulsing in time with his heart. “I want it hard,” you gulped at the predatory look on his face, “but I can't take it.” His cock twitched inside you.

 

Shifting his hips slid you up the bedroll and elicited a sweet, high noise from you. The position was awkward, but he wanted to see you pinned down and vulnerable underneath him too bad to not try. “You're never going to get fucked as hard as this, Cutie. That's a promise,” he rasped. Even careful was going to be hard.

 

You clenched a fist and hit his side, showing teeth up at him. “Then quit talking and _move_ ,” you hissed.

 

“Oh kitten,” he said, eyes lidding as he slowly pulled back, watching your hips lift upwards as your cunt fought to keep him inside, tight and throbbing. “Fight all you want.” With a swift jerk he plunged back in and grunted, the wet smack of slick skin and your high, breathy cry urging him on.

 

Along for the ride now, you scrabbled for purchase on him, grip coming loose every time he thrust into you with enough force to knock your breath away. You couldn't keep quiet even if you wanted to and he seemed to be further incited by your gasps and cries. Pain blended with pleasure and some small part of your brain was thankful that he'd put that ointment on you because it may have made all the difference between a good time and a bad one.

 

“Look at you,” he said between pants, flexing his whole body rhythmically, “taking me so well.”

 

Tears trickled out the corners of your eyes as you reached down and stroked your clit, it felt like your entire body had become an erogenous zone, every sensation magnified and pleasureful. Even the sight of his body undulating and muscles bunching was sending flares of pleasure through you.

 

“Fuck,” he grit out, giving you a particularly hard thrust as your walls throbbed and clenched around him.

 

Your free hand shoved upwards at him as you half panicked then, palm smacking against his overheated skin, that was too much.

 

Exercising his will, he stilled his thrusting and ignored your dismayed cry as your fingertips fluttered over your clit. “Cum for me,” he growled, grinding down on you firmly, giving only the shallowest of thrusts, “all over my cock.”

 

“Oh shit,” you said breathily, between the grinding and his demand, you clamped down on his cock and gasped, your back jerking into an arch and your mouth falling open as the pleasure mounted and exploded inside you.

 

Rocking his hips in response, he groaned at the tightness and slowly withdrew from you when you hit at him again, whimpering and overstimulated. Rising to his knees, he grasped his slick cock and stared down at you with hunger, a thoroughly debauched mess, and stroked himself fast and hard.

 

You stared, sprawled out underneath him, all the strength in your body fucked clean out of you. Something primal stirred inside you as you watched him manhandle himself, wishing he could have fucked you as enthusiastically as he clearly wanted to. When his breathing became harsh and his movements jerky you looked up and locked eyes with him, whispering, “cum for me.”

 

With a sharp curse, his hips jerked forwards and his head tossed back, every muscle on display going taut as cum erupted from his cock in spurts and landed on you in a sticky, ropy mess.

 

The aftermath seemed so quiet, just the two of you panting. You reached up and touched at a rope of cooling cum that had painted your breasts, glancing up at his face when he let go of his softening cock. He was watching very, very closely, you realized. Inspired, you swiped your fingers through the mess and smeared it into your skin.

 

Exhaling slowly, he reached down and ran his thumbs over you, helping smear his juices and yours across your overheated skin. The rough callouses on his hands felt almost too good, your body still sensitive. When you were thoroughly dirtied, he let you go and tucked his cock back in his pants, sliding down until he was spread out across the bedroll and spooning you. “How are you feeling?” He was alternating between stroking your hair, face and chest affectionately.

 

Coming down from your post-coitus high, you began to feel the inevitable self loathing. You curled your arms around his one, stilling him so he was just stroking your head. Imagining this happening and getting off on it in private was one thing, but actually having sex with one of the giant enemy soldiers? A combination of sick, satisfied and sore, you weren't sure what to say. “Fine,” was what you managed, whispered softly.

 

While he didn't specifically point out you were upset, he did pull you upwards until your head rested under his chin and his thumb brushed the corners of your eyes in a telling way. “There is nothing wrong with this,” he finally said, his low voice reverberating through you.

 

Your thoughts spiraled away, regardless of his reassurance. You loathed and even killed people who betrayed for food and shelter but here you were, doing it for less. For _dick_. The worst part was you'd do it again in an instant, you realized. How twisted was it that you'd not been given affection by anyone but the enemy?

 

His gentle thumb strokes finally swiped away some tears. “Forget about the world for a while, with me,” he said, shifting to a teasing tone, “in a few days, you can go back to being a tiny grim reaper, the rebels will survive and no one will know you've been bouncing on my cock.”

 

Swallowing, you gripped his arm in warning. “Don't rub it in,” you said.

 

“Don't hurt me,” he murmured, still very much teasing.

 

You considered chomping on his arm. That would hurt, right? With a quiet sigh, you refrained, he had all the power here and he really had not hurt you. Any blame was your own. “Don't get _cocky_ ,” is what you said instead, a mild jab at the manhood might keep him modest.

 

He chuckled at that. “Are you trying to tell me that you didn't enjoy yourself as much as it sounded like you did?” His arm tightened around you and he rolled to his back, pulling you along until your back was flush with his chest and his arm was draped over you.

 

His hand drifted down between your legs and you squirmed, grasping at him and arching your back as a thick finger ghosted over your messy cunt. Your pants were still down, you vaguely realized.

 

Dipping the digit in, it could be a large cock in its own right, he rubbed your juices around. “I think you enjoyed being under me, Cutie, and I think you loved being impaled on my cock.” He just about purred, eliciting a shiver from you, “do you need more? Want to feel my fingers too?”

 

Grabbing at his wrist to try and still him, you shook your head dazedly. “Sore.”

 

“That's what I thought. Going to keep you sore too,” he gave your pussy a pat before grabbing at the edge of your pants and underwear, tugging them back up for you. “Can't have you running away.”

 

Running was definitely not an option. Crawling might not be either, you realized with a frown. A steady throb was emanating from between your legs and through your thighs and it wasn't pleasureful either. “Not a problem,” you grumbled, watching his hand pass by and listening to him suck his fingers clean.

 

With care, he laid you down on your bedroll and sat up, rolling his shoulders and looking back out at the green carpet of the jungle with a sigh. “Get some rest.”

 

Not about to argue against some free shut eye, your eyes drifted closed while wondering how much he weighed.

 

You couldn't have been asleep for long when a distant _pop_ sound made your eyes snap open, darting around frantically to find the source. You found Rollins standing, still topless, near the edge and staring out at something. “Gunfire?” You rasped sleepily.

 

He shook his head slowly, stepping side so you could see as you stifled a gasp while getting on your feet. Yeah, you weren't running anywhere alright. A familiar bright red light was arcing over the forest, standing out against the overcast sky, a flare.

 

Rollins was grinning, you realized as you looked at him, he looked vicious. “AIM found our little gift, they will be pissed,” he chuckled, crossing his arms and looking back out across the canopy, “the fighting will start today,” he decided.

 

Leaning on the cool, mossy rock, you stared at him intently. In profile, he was statuesque and catching a view of his muscular back made you lick your lips. That he was excited for the killing to start said a lot about him though, you thought, frowning slightly. “You'll get called to fight then,” you said.

 

He shook his head. “My mission is to keep watch and report at specific intervals. I am otherwise a free agent unless something unforeseen happens,” glancing over his shoulder, he looked at you and licked his lips. You were still half naked and disheveled, quite a sight.

 

That made sense, you supposed. One highly trained Hydra bio soldier could do untold destruction on its own, in the right place at the right time. Putting a bunch together was a) overkill and b) a lot of money lost if they happened to get caught out and perish. “I see,” you said, turning away and shuffling towards your backpack, using the natural wall to steady yourself.

 

Wandering over, he dropped to a crouch and leaned against the wall where you were previously, comically still taller than you and taking up three times as much space. “Clothing isn't necessary,” he grinned wolfishly as you pulled a folded up t-shirt out of your bag.

 

“Uhuh,” rolling your eyes, you swiped at your chest and grimaced as old cum flaked off. You put the t-shirt back and withdrew an old sports bra instead, any excuse to not have to get into the full fatigues again. It took far too much effort to get the damn thing on so the t-shirt was a no go anyway.

 

Running a hand through his hair, he seemed content to watch you until you grabbed your rifle. “And what are you doing with that?” His voice had gone soft in warning.

 

Turning your head to look at him over your shoulder, you quirked a brow at him. “I'm going to put you down like Old Yeller,” you said, deadpan.

 

“I think you'll need a bigger gun,” he smirked, but still eyed you like a hawk as you sat down, deftly pulled out the clip and ejected the bullet in the chamber.  Catching the bullet, you plugged it back into the clip and placed it aside, stiffly reaching into your bag and pulling out your maintenance equipment. Rolling it out beside you, you paused in your initial inspection of the weapon to watch him get up and grab his own.

 

Mirroring your position, he sat cross legged on his bedroll and pulled out his own cleaning kit.  His was much nicer, you noted with a little jealousy.

 

When you were younger, you never imagined being a gun nut. Then again, you never imagined the world would go to pot as bad as it did or that you'd end up being a rebel either. Your gaze lingered on his rifle, appreciative of its construction and quite frankly intimidated by its size.  It was one thing to be told about the bio soldiers, their weapons and capabilities, and it was another to be in the close proximity of either. You were being given a perspective that no rebel had lived to tell about and you gulped at the thought. Sure, he thought you were no threat, but the more you learned, the closer you got to being one. You knew it. He knew it.

 

You hadn't noticed that he had gone still, hands pulling away from the gun so you could stare at it further. He broke your appreciative reverie with a soft chuckle. “You like my gun, Cutie? Want to fire it?”

 

Blinking, you looked up at him and laughed at the ridiculous question. “I might be an idiot, but even I know the recoil of that thing would fire me into the sun,” he laughed at that, “it's far too big.”

 

“I can help,” he grinned, looking almost boyish.

 

He was about as subtle as a hurricane, but the idea of him knelt behind you and helping you fire his ridiculous cannon of a gun, his body supporting you and his arms handling the power of the weapon while you aimed, made your face heat up. His eyes were practically twinkling as you cleared your throat and rolled your eyes at him. “After,” you said.

 

Seemingly pleased, he opened his own cleaning kit and got to work.

 

Quietly, with distant rain forest birds and running water a pleasant backdrop, you lovingly looked over and tended to your gun. He was faster and more mechanical about it, but you weren't in a rush. Hands had long since worn it extra smooth, took away all the shine and made each part slide easily.

 

“No wonder why the rebels are losing,” he smirked down at you when you finished, long since finished his own maintenance. “Slow,” he said.

 

It barbed a bit but didn't have the bite of genuine cruelty, so you took it in stride and didn't look up at him as you rolled up the kit and put it away. “Didn't know it was a race,” you said.

 


	24. Peace is a Dream 3 (Reader/Rollins)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rebel War/Dystopia AU  
> RebelSoldier!Reader SuperSoldier!Rollins  
> TAGS: War and all that comes with it, despair, angst, injury, not much else in this one as far as tagging goes I think  
> Summary:  
> Reader and Rollins establish a dialogue that leads reader to an important choice. Action is taken and consequences received.

He hopped to his feet and offered you a hand, rifle in the other, intent on his mission. “You know you want to,” he grinned.

 

Shaking your head, you placed your rifle against the wall and accepted the hand up, catching how he grasped your forearm and elbow instead at the last second when he saw your hand and wrist were one large bruise. “Just going to attract attention if we fire that thing,” you said.

 

“No, now is the perfect time,” he said, pausing to look you over, “the kick is clearing up already. That's good.”

 

Surprised, you looked down. That kind of bruising didn't just go away in a handful of hours, you fully expected to be suffering for weeks. But he was right, the discoloration had become visibly lighter, most of the dark red and purple faded to a yellow or green color. “Huh,” you said, touching at it and noting it was markedly less tender too. “No complaints here.”

 

Guided along by the elbow, you would have felt annoyed about being treated like a little old lady if your legs weren't operating at about that capacity. You leaned into him when he brought you a few feet from the edge of the ledge, purely because your legs were sore, of course.

 

He dropped to a kneel behind you, his knee coming up to your waist as he leaned forwards and brought up the rifle. “Let's see what's out there,” he said, bringing the butt up to his shoulder and peering through the scope. “My name is Jack, by the way.”

 

Placing your hand on his thigh, you watched him as his arm looped around you and held up the barrel. His face had smoothed into a calm, neutral mask, arms slowly shifting as he directed the scope. This was him at work. “Jack,” you murmured. Jack Rollins.

 

“I want to hear you say it later,” he purred. It wasn't long before his lip ticked upwards at the corner, “there,” keeping the rifle steady and pulling his head back, he gestured with his chin, “have a look.”

 

Curious, you didn't think he'd be able to find anything out there except, at best, the tip top of an antenna sticking out of the AIM base. Leaning forwards, you peered into the scope and blinked. “What am I seeing?” It was just a wall of green, as far as you could tell.

 

“AIM sniper nest,” he glanced into the scope around you, “crosshair is on his head.”

 

Brows pinching together, you looked in again and focused around the crosshair. You would not have seen him if he didn't blink just then. Unbelievable. “If you shoot him they are just going to trace it back to here,” you said, trying to wrap your head around what kind of enhancements Rollins might have to find a needle in a haystack like that.

 

“You can't hear it yet, but they are already fighting out there,” he said lowly, nudging your head aside with his. “They aren't going to stop and figure out bullet trajectories during a live battle,” he chuckled then, “not when there's obviously a sniper around.”

 

“Where's the fighting?” You said, raising your head and looking out across the canopy, wishing you could see or hear, get an indication if the rebels had been pulled into it or not.

 

“South by southwest,” he bumped your head with his chin, “pull the trigger. He's the enemy, don't tell me you're feeling soft all the sudden?”

 

You weren't. Agitated, you reached out and placed your finger beside the trigger, minding discipline, and peered through the scope. It was an awkward stretch, but you trusted he'd keep it in place and not let the scope jump back and take your eye out. “I should be out there,” you said.

 

His grip visibly tightened as you curled your finger inwards and pressed against the oversized trigger. It was a hair trigger, the rifle kicking almost the instant you touched it, Rollins' body tensing against the recoil. You thought it would be so much louder than your own gun, but the intense crack of gunfire was no more or less deafening than your own firearm.

 

The empty bullet casing, absurdly huge, fell to the stone and landed with a metallic tink, rolling away and off the edge.

 

He quickly nudged you aside and looked through the scope. “Got 'em,” he said, pulling the rifle up and resting the butt on the ground while coiling his arm around you, pulling you close. “Cutie, there's an entire company worth of STRIKE teams out there right now, you are lucky I'm the one who found you,” his voice dipped lower, “very lucky.”

 

Your mouth went dry and you paled. An entire company of biotech soldiers? A company was...upwards of 250 soldiers, you did the math in your head as a shiver ran through you. “Hydra wants this,” you whispered.

 

Stubble scraping your cheek as he nodded, his hand curled around your thigh and gave you a little squeeze. “Hydra will get it. AIM didn't bring the big guns, Hammer is far south and the idiots made a logging camp with one mech to guard it,” he chuckled, “it'll be a slaughter.”

 

AIM and Hammer were far from your thoughts. Hawkeye would pull Romeo out immediately if he understood the scope of the danger they were in. “I have to warn them,” you croaked. He'd pull Romeo out for even _half_ that many of the Hydra super soldiers. Losing the Amazon would be terrible, but it was better to live to fight another day.

 

“No chance of that,” he said, dipping down to scoop you up at the waist with one arm and ignoring your irate huff as he pinned you to his chest. “Cool it.” He set you back down on your bedroll after he put his rifle against the wall.

 

Your heart in your throat, you dropped to your knees and dove into your backpack, yanking out your folded up, unmarked map and spreading it out across both bedrolls.

 

“You still use paper maps?” He settled to his knees, bracketing the map with them, amused.

 

“Yes,” you hissed, stabbing the map with your finger. “The rebels are here – don't look at me like that, I know that you know – where is everyone else?” You looked up at him, desperation as clear as day, but there was no place for pride. You'd beg for their lives if you had to, jump on a grenade for them.

 

Chest expanding with a deep breath, he regarded you quietly for a moment before exhaling and leaning forwards, bringing his hand to the map. “AIM,” he said, the weathered paper crinkling as he slid his index finger across it, “Rebels,” he glanced at you, “Hammer and” he tapped out six places in quick succession, “Hydra.”

 

One place he tapped was behind the Romeo encampment and your heart froze, face falling.

 

“No way out,” he said, “Rumlow has a very specific tactic for dealing with the rebel forces.” He pulled his hand back and rested it on his thigh. “Anything that moves where he doesn't want it to gets annihilated. If the rebel forces stay there and don't do anything, they are safe.”

 

Rumlow. You had heard that name before, whispered fearfully around campfires. It clicked then, Commander Rumlow. The amount of atrocities that one soldier had under his belt was staggering.

 

“Keeps them scared when they lose a few here and there,” he said, eyeing you.

 

Shaken, pale and feeling sick to your core, you slowly looked up from the map and at Rollins. Who was he really? What was his relation to the Commander? You had a strong sinking feeling. “How did I get past all that?”

 

A thick shoulder tugged up into a half shrug. “Could be lucky, or you were noticed and ignored. The ones who are programmed can be single-minded if their orders are rigid. You were never meant to make it back alive, either way.”

 

Sitting back, you ran a hand through your hair and closed your eyes, thinking while giving your braid a firm tug. The sky was darkening rapidly despite it approaching noon, a storm was rolling in. A distant rumble made you wonder if it was thunder or something war related. “Alright,” you said.

 

Jack Rollins. Jack Rollins. Why was that name tingling in the back of your brain?

 

“I thought you were going to fight about this,” he said, “consider me surprised.”

 

Quietly, you leaned forwards and folded up the map, taking care to not look up at him. “I have no delusions about winning a fist fight here,” you said while packing it away and grabbing your canteen. By the time you chanced a look at him, you were settled with your back against the wall and your legs sprawled out in front of you.

 

Lightning struck and he was cast ominously in shadow, staring down at you. “Where's home?” He asked.

 

Pausing mid drink, your brows pinched together. Home. Was that a joke? Swallowing, you pulled the canteen away and twisted the cap back on. “There is no home,” you said, trying to not sound too bitter about it. Trying to turn it around, you chuckled darkly. “You? Do they just keep you in a storage container and turn you on when they need you?”

 

He glanced at your backpack, putting the truth together quickly. You lived out of that bag, no doubt about it now. “Believe it or not, even the real test tube babies have a bigger life than you.”

 

Your lip curled and you shoved the canteen against your bag with a clunk, letting it lay there. “I had a life, jackass. A life before companies stripped away everything that held them in check and turned everyone into wage slaves,” you were getting heated, daring him to antagonize you further.

 

“Tell me about it?” Unperturbed, he shifted to his side, stretched his legs out and propped his head up on his hand as the wind picked up.

 

Sighing, you moved around until you mirrored his pose, stretched out across your own bedroll. “Why do you care to know? Asano Robotics erased it from the map, nothing there for Hydra to sink its claws into.”

 

Shaking his head, he huffed. “Do you really think we just sit down and talk with people we want to get information out of? I'm asking because I'm interested.” He lifted a hand and make an expansive gesture as the first fat drops of rain began to fall, “we have time.”

 

A fierce gust of wind whipped around him and made you shiver involuntarily, you didn't hesitate to crawl into his space when he lifted his arm and offered. A plan was forming in your head, a real stupid, idiotic plan. But you no longer had any intention of just sitting here and having a sexcation when the last of the rebels were in terrible danger. “Fine,” you said as you snuggled into his warmth.

 

Using his generous bicep as a pillow, you melded up against his body and closed your eyes as his arm came down and around you, casing you in. Rain began to pour, but between the partial cover of the alcove and his own body you were largely sheltered. “I lived in Cody, Wyoming. Never left there before becoming a rebel,” you said, wistfully recalling those better days in your mind's eye.

 

“Mhm,” he said, toying with your hair idly, curling it around a finger and rubbing it between index and thumb.

 

You sighed. “Grandparents owned a ranch, I lived in the city with my parents. Didn't really think much about the future but I thought that I would like to become a vet of some sort, I liked the animals.”

 

He chuckled, waiting for more.

 

Rainfall hammering against the rock filled the silence before you sheepishly said, “that's about it really. Life before it went to shit.”

 

“Got to see Yellowstone then?” He said. Asano Robotics strip mined it, the former national park was a wasteland now.

 

“Yeah, it was an amazing place,” you said bitterly. That was what was going to happen here, you knew. The trees torn down, earth ripped up, slaves brought in to mine under dangerous conditions. Same old, same old.

 

“I never saw Yellowstone, but I did see lots of other places. My job took me all over the world,” he said.

 

Now that was more interesting, you perked up a bit. “What did you do?”

 

“I was a soldier still, Australian spec ops.” Funny, he didn't seem to have any lingering accent or obvious Aussie vocabulary. “Recruited by Hydra later, to the first STRIKE team.”

 

You immediately doubted the doability of your plan. This was a man who just liked killing, you decided, and was probably very good at it _before_ he was turned into a super soldier. There wouldn't be any words you could say to convince him that he was on the wrong side of this, there was a fundamental difference in world views between the two of you.

 

Rain sluiced over him, propelled by a blast of wind, and splashed on to you. “Hydra has always aggressively recruited from the military, the best of the best,” he said.

 

“It's all about power isn't it,” you muttered darkly, frowning at the stone wall, “why put your ass over the fire when the path of least resistance is more power?”

 

“You do realize that you are the minority? It's human nature to pursue power,” he said.

 

“Yeah, well, it's been obvious for a real long time that humans suck,” you said, shifting restlessly, wanting to just escape and be done with it.

 

He chuckled deeply, rattling you. “You think the rebels are all saints, huh?”

 

“No, but they did make one brave choice,” you said.

 

“You're a scout, aren't you? A mouse that the men hiding in tents send to check the trap. Your life, your dedication, that's nothing to them other than a handy tool to get you to do the shit nobody else wants to do, you know,” he said.

 

“I volunteered,” you hissed.

 

“Like I said, handy,” he said.

 

“What, you think telling me how my job is dangerous is going to make me roll over or something?” You gave a short cluck of a laugh.

 

“I want you to think about the reality of the situation and what you can achieve,” he said, shrugging behind you and sending another splash of water down.

 

Curling your arms tightly to yourself, you did think. If the storm was here to stay, getting to the camp and organizing a retreat around the force hiding behind them wasn't out of the question, but it was all a pretty tall order. And you needed to shake Jack. “I made my choice,” you said with a stubborn note.

 

“You also made a choice to let me fuck you, so you can clearly think for yourself,” he said wryly.

 

“Right,” you muttered. The conversation fell flat but he seemed content to just weather the storm and hold you. Between his furnace-like body heat and the rain, wind and thunder in the background, you drifted off.

 

A crack of thunder, as loud as an explosion, woke you up so violently you leaped from where you lay, flailing and gasping when you were held down.

 

“Easy,” Jack's voice rumbled near your head. It was his arm keeping you in place.

 

Sighing, you winced at a blinding flash of lightning and recalled the situation. The plan. Tapping his arm lightly, you made to sit up. “Gotta piss,” you said.

 

“Going to get soaked,” he warned, pulling his arm back and watching you stand. Behind him was a sheer wall of rain.

 

“Doesn't matter,” you said, squinting and stretching your shoulders with a pop. It made you nervous, not being able to see the ledge. But you could go off of memory, be careful. You've done crazier things. Maybe. Resting your hands on his side, you hopped over him and staggered under the crush of water, instantly soaked.

 

“Careful,” he called, voice already muffled.

 

Careful indeed. Sliding one foot forwards after the other, your heart pounded in your ears while rain rattled your skull, breath catching when your bare toes hit the edge and curled over it. At least, when you fell, you weren't going to see how far down it was going to be before you splattered.

 

Shaking off the thought, you needed to hurry before he got suspicious, you crouched down and hauled yourself over the edge, biting back a whimper as your feet reached out on the slick rocks. No going back, you chanted to yourself as you began to feel your way down. The intensity of the storm was the only thing that could hide you from Rollins, it was a boon you needed to take full advantage of.

 

It felt like being caught in a nightmare realm. Only able to see as far as the tip of your nose, reaching out for something that might not be there, one step at a time, and knowing at any second death was ready to embrace you either with gravity or an 8 foot tall unbeatable opponent. Your breath caught when you thought you heard something like a distorted _roar_. How long had it been?

 

Redoubling your effort was a chore, especially since your legs did not want to get with the fucking program, but as soon as the wind died down marginally you suspected you'd made it below the canopy. That was good, because your hands were stuck in a curled up position and it had become a race against time to get to the ground before your arm muscles decided to stop doing their job too.

 

A small rock from above whacked you right in the forehead, making you bite back a curse and giving you enough adrenaline to finish the trip. You gasped in relief when your feet touched soft earth, stumbling back from the rock face awkwardly before feeling out for a broad leafed plant to hide under.

 

Curled up under a giant leaf that continually beat against you with every wave of rain, you panted and quietly begged your body for strength you knew it didn't have. It was unlikely Rollins would hit the ground and find you right there, but you needed to move. He knew where you were going, and he said Hydra would attack if you made it back there.  You believed that much.

 

Knowing time was not on your side, you fumbled out your little compass, squinting in the low light and swiping the back of your hand across your eyes, gathering your bearings. Turning yourself south by southwest, you pocketed it and charged out from under the leaf and into the torrent. Bouncing off a tree not 5 seconds later, you grit your teeth and moved on.

 

If Rollins was out there looking for you, he was having about as much luck finding you as you were trying to keep the mountain on your right and bull through the dense undergrowth at a steady pace. Still, the idea of him looming up behind you kept your heart racing and your feet moving.

 

In hindsight, as you swam across a river and prayed there weren't fun things like piranhas and deadly water snakes heading your way, you probably should have eaten something before discarding all your worldly possessions. The knife at your belt and the compass in your pocket didn't inspire confidence in your ability to defend yourself against even natural jungle predators. You couldn't be that far though, it had been solid hours at this point and that river you passed fed into the lake you remembered seeing.

 

By the time you hit the camp, a miracle in and of itself, you were breathing in harsh gasps and just about ran over the rebel who pointed a gun in your face as you materialized, half naked, out of the wall of relentless, pounding rain. “Hawkeye!” You shouted raggedly, flicking the bewildered rebel out of your way and charging forwards. Flinging open his tent, your legs took that as a sign that the mission was over and promptly gave out, sending you crashing to the ground.

 

Hawkeye was there, thank god he was a creature of habit, and made an alarmed noise before leaping to your side. “Holy shit,” he muttered, taking in your visage before shaking your shoulder, “what happened?”

 

“Get out,” you wheezed, staggering to your feet with the help of your hands and crashing into his table, leaning against it heavily and slapping your index and middle finger against the space behind the Romeo encampment on his map repeatedly. “It's a trap – ah ah – they are coming – huh!” A canteen was pressed to your lips and you chugged gratefully until you turned your head, water spilling down your cheek and chest.

 

Hawkeye stilled. “Behind us? Sit,” he said, shoving a wooden stool under your ass and forcing you on it, waiting not-quite patiently for you to recover enough to properly speak.

 

“They're coming – I was caught – escaped – they're coming,” you tilted your head back and took great heaving breaths.

 

The next few minutes were close to an interrogation as Hawkeye pried for every bit of information he thought was relevant beyond what you had told him, relenting only when you slapped the table under your hand and snarled, “you don't get it! They are coming because I am here! We could be under attack already! We needed to be moving before I even hit this tent!”

 

It didn't look like he was going to take you seriously until you told him the number of bio soldiers out there. You'd never seen the stoic leader go ghostly pale before.

 

He stormed out of the tent barking commands, sending runners scattering. In no more than 5 minutes you were loaded on to an improvised stretcher made of bamboo and old fabric, jostling wildly as the men carrying you ran in a long line like ants. From what you gathered, Hawkeye split the battalion into two mostly even groups and sent them north and south with the hopes of the storm covering the large amount of movement while they maneuvered around the Hydra trap.

 

And it worked. It would take time to rendezvous with the other half of the battalion before you knew exactly how well it worked but your half of the equation had suffered no losses, once the storm blew past and you counted heads.

 

Laying in a tent on one of the precious few cots, your bloody, cut up feet wrapped in bandages up to your knees, you looked up as the tent flapped open and a man you recognized as a runner stepped inside. “News?” You perked, sitting up quickly. His heavy pause had your shoulders sinking before he even spoke.

 

“Hawkeye's half of the battalion has been wiped out, no survivors as far as we've been able to ascertain,” he said somberly.

 

You laid back down, staring up at the dark green fabric of the tent as a shocked, numb feeling spread through you. “What now?” You asked the tent.

 

“People are already leaving,” he said, “they think it's over and the SiC can't get them to stay.”

 

Hawkeye's second in command was only his second because he'd been a leader of a previous doomed unit and had insisted his seniority meant something.  He was a useless tit.  “Maybe it is,” you whispered, tears stinging at your eyes.

 


	25. Peace is a Dream 4 (Reader/Rollins)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rebel War/Dystopia AU  
> RebelSoldier!Reader SuperSoldier!Rollins  
> TAGS: Betrayal, angst, recovery  
> Summary:  
> Reader lets go of her dreams and aspirations until fate comes back with a vengeance. A short, transitional chapter.

They abandoned you. The men and women of the resistance, your comrades and people you'd suffered with for years, fighting for a better world...they even took the tent down around you and left you laying on a cot in the jungle and the only reason why you had _that_ still was because you flashed your knife at anyone who tried their hand at taking it.

 

Broken, mind and body, you laid there. The ointment that Rollins put on your chest lasted several days, you didn't realize the amount of pain it was masking until it was gone. Helpless and alone, you cried long and hard.

 

Most of the rebels were legging it to Bogota, Colombia, where a large amount of rebel hideouts and sympathizers lived in South America.

 

A great well of bitterness opened up inside you over the proceeding weeks. Surviving out of sheer stubborn tenacity, you quietly cursed the ex rebels as cowards, thieves and traitors. Rats. You wouldn't go to Bogota, too many rebels – trying to sneak back into society or otherwise – in one place always spelled trouble.

 

Peru was your choice. The countryside was still beautiful and not yet completely tainted by industry. The people were kinder, though they worked under harsh conditions and suffered hardships aplenty, this assertion proved true when you staggered down a dirt road, finally out of the wilds, and were almost immediately picked up by a rugged farmer with a cart and an affectionate donkey.

 

There was no mistaking what you were, even if they didn't hear the news. You were bedraggled, starved, still shirtless and shoeless, wearing your mud-caked fatigue pants with a knife at your belt and a crudely tied up sheet that you stripped from the cot keeping the sun off your head, shoulders and back.

 

Still, it was harvest season and you were a fit body, with a little nursing on his wife's part. In halting Spanish, you worked out an agreement with the man and allowed yourself to be swept away into a simpler world. Recovery and reflection, that was what you needed.

 

Once the gashes on your feet and calves had adequately healed, now just fresh scar tissue, you joined the work force. Farm life during harvest season was this frantic, mad dash from sunrise to sunset to collect the product and get it either shipped out or stored away. It allowed you to blissfully turn off your brain and just _work_.

 

True to your word, you stayed on the quinoa farm and earned your keep, but once the harvest season was over you felt a stirring of restlessness. You bid the farmer, Bruno, and his wife, Sofia, an emotionally-charged farewell. It was funny, how they had soothed your bitter heartache and become a family to you in their own right, but you couldn't stay.

 

From there, you drifted. Through villages, towns and eventually into cities, there was always a way to earn your keep when you were crafty. Your travels brought you to a bar in Lima, the capital of Peru and a bustling metropolis so populated it made your head spin.

 

It was purely fate that made you look up from your drink and look at the silent television. You'd heard, in time, that many of the Bogota rebels were ousted by betrayal from within, caught before they could assimilate back into society consequence free. Just what they deserved, you thought at the time.

 

But the battered face of Hawkeye was staring at you through the TV, dead eyed, gaunt and hollowed out, it called your attention instantly. “Sube la televisión!!” You barked, the barkeep grudgingly doing as you bid and turning up the volume. Live broadcast, public execution of the leader of the rebels. Apparently, there had been a trial during all these months, his sentence passed last week.  Guilty.

 

Anger simmered inside you, low and raw, as you listened and watched. Rebels were called terrorists, because _of course_ , and there was no doubt in your mind that the trial he went through was an elaborate farce with only one goal: to send a message to those who think about fighting. The image of Hawkeye being lead before a firing squad was shrunk down into a small square at the corner of the screen while a new image took over.  It was like he was already forgotten.

 

Your ears began to ring, all other sounds fading away as you looked at the clean-shaven face of Jack Fucking Rollins, leader of STRIKE Alpha, as he knelt to receive some bullshit medal for bravery. Red crowded at the edges of your vision and you gripped your glass hard, heart pounding against your ribs like a fist.

 

Leader of STRIKE Alpha.

 

The glass broke, jabbing your hand and jarring you back to reality. Dazedly, you realized you were on your feet and breathing heavily. People were looking at you like you were insane, conversations gone quiet. Looking down at your hand, you watched blood and foamy beer drip from it as you placed the remains of the glass down on the table.

 

Hawkeye bled and died, probably tortured to his wits end, while you moped and mourned and- and _farmed_. Tossing a few bills down, you briskly left the bar as grim purpose filled you.


	26. Peace is a Dream 5 (Reader/Rollins)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rebel War/Dystopia AU  
> RebelSoldier!Reader SuperSoldier!Rollins  
> TAGS: Subterfuge, injury, murder, theft, betrayal, drugs, revenge spree  
> Summary:  
> Reader takes a dubious moral stance and action. Lots of action.

While capitals always fell largely under the sway of one company or another, there were always representatives for all of the biggest ones in each. Lima was no exception and you established a tentative dialogue with AIM in short order. You were almost surprised how easy it was to get a hold of someone with seniority when you advertised your connection with an upper echelon Hydra member.

 

Mostly when you said it was a STRIKE Alpha soldier. Greedy bastards.

 

What wasn't a surprise was when you were volunteered – voluntold, you would say – to test a chemical weapon on your super soldier pal. A test of loyalty. You agreed so fast and so eagerly you thought you might have blown it, the way the suit frowned at you.

 

“I was a rebel and survived against the Hydra bios, you don't get much crazier than that,” you said, smirking at him and holding your hand out, a bloody rag wrapped around it. It wasn't entirely a lie.

 

When he passed the capped syringe to you, full of a dark brown liquid, and began to fill you in on the details, you knew you were in. “Holding a bit of a grudge, huh?” He said when he finished.  The whole world knew what happened in the amazon, even if the finer details always got fudged.

 

“Oh yeah,” you said.

 

You weren't _officially_ working with AIM, strictly an off the grid asset, but it came with all kinds of perks. However, it was on you to get in contact with Rollins and you had the general outline of a plan. You were soon on a plane, first class, feet kicked up and drinking wine, watching the news and observing the first phase of said plan, smiling in dark satisfaction.

 

JACK ROLLINS WHERE IS HOME?

 

The words were carved into the wall of a Hydra laboratory you raided. Everyone in that building was dead by your hand. Noncombatants, scientists, the doe eyed secretary, all of them. One hell of a message.

 

Making sure your face was plainly visible on the security cameras also helped.

 

You thought getting back to Cody from South America would be a trick, being a wanted terrorist and all, but AIM pulled through where you needed them to. The taxi ride from Worland airport however? That left a lot to be desired and you sure were glad you weren't footing _that_ bill.

 

“You sure this is where you need to be?” The taxi driver quirked a brow at you in the mirror.

 

Swallowing and taking a deep breath, you nodded and opened the door with a pop. “Yup,” you said. Coming back here hurt, you never looked back to the remains of the city but seeing it as a burnt out husk hit a reservoire of resolve deep inside you; something you needed to face what was ahead and who was coming. Shouldering your heavy backpack, you began the hike.  A trip down memory lane was in order.

 

It was funny to you, how you couldn't point your grandparents' farm out on a map but could still navigate there with your eyes closed. Camping in the half collapsed remains of their home ripped more tears out of you than expected. Touching your fingers to a broken, molded picture of your grandparents over the mantel of the fireplace sent a great wave of pain through you, your face contorting.

 

You held that picture in your hands when you slept that night, in a sleeping bag beside the warm coals in the fireplace.

 

This is necessary, you repeated the statement to yourself for the hundredth time. Squaring your shoulders, you glared into the sky when you heard the familiar hum of a quinjet, your hands, one bandaged and one not, resting on the top board of a rotted wooden fence. It had been three days but AIM contacted you when they detected the quinjet en route, giving you time to get ready. AIM had serious satellite surveillance, you came to realize.

 

Everyone really did use the rebels as scapegoats. They could have rooted you out themselves, no Hydra needed. Your good hand clenched at the wood, splinters digging under your nails. The rebels didn't even exist as a faction anymore and they would still be scapegoats forever because of the half that escaped in the amazon.

 

“I don't normally make house calls,” a familiar voice said, dry grass crunching under heavy boots, “but there's a few people demanding your head on a spike.”

 

“I never got your phone number,” you said lightly while your chest tightened, “had to leave a message that left an impression.”

 

His shadow fell over you. “Well it did.”

 

Gulping, you gathered your nerve. “I didn't realize they would starve. Didn't think about what I was leaving behind,” lifting a finger, you indicated the scattered, bleached bones of your grandparents cows. Horses and pigs in the barn. Chickens in the coop. Nobody let them out when everyone either ran, got captured or fought and died.

 

His hands and arms bracketed you, grasping the old wood as he spoke directly above your head. “I don't care.”

 

The wood was crunching in his grip and you thought frantically about how your bones would sound just like that. The needle you'd hidden in your bandages felt tiny and especially foolish, but this was a defining moment and by God you were not going to choke. Not this time. “You were right,” you croaked. It wasn't hard to call up tears.

 

“I know,” he said, unmoving.

 

“Did you know I was in the southern group?” You asked softly, having wondered about it many times by now. Did he spare you again somehow?

 

“No. Hawkeye's second in command was a mole, he insisted that his group not be attacked because he didn't want to be _accidentally_ _hit_ ,” he said with a derisive snort.

 

“Of course he was,” you muttered. That divisive asshole.

 

He chuckled then. “He got up in the Commander's face after it blew over, demanded his reward. Rumlow caved his chest in,” he said.

 

Letting go of the fence slowly, careful not to make any moves that could be perceived as unadvisedly aggressive, you turned around and craned your neck to look up at him. “That might be the best thing I've heard since this all went down,” you said.

 

“I thought you might like that,” his said wryly. He didn't look particularly angry, more neutral than anything. He cleaned up good too, your lizard brain noted; he was in dark tactical gear, adequately sized pistol in its holster on his belt and a sheathed knife in easy reach. No tools for restraint necessary, it wasn't in his job description.

 

“They left me for dead,” you said, shoulders sagging, hands hanging at your sides, defeated. “I should have just stayed with you and forgot about it all, been safe for once.”

 

“I wish you did, this would have gone differently,” he said, bringing a hand to your face and stroking his thumb over your cheek. “I don't think there's anything I can do now.”

 

“I know,” you sniffed and shivered, the familiar touch setting tears loose. You hated the feelings it elicited, how your throat was tight and how hard it was to speak. “I wanted to end this where it started for me and I wanted it to be you.”

 

His adam's apple bobbed as he stared down at you.

 

Leaf green eyes, you finally noticed. “Can I make a last request?” You smiled, tilting your head to his hand and half lidding your eyes. One last innocent request. He'd fall for it.

 

“Depends,” he said, thumb pausing.

 

“Just...” you puffed, swallowing at the lump in your throat. “Hold me for a minute and then make it quick?” Looking up at him through wet lashes, you knew he liked the doe eyes.

 

“Yeah,” he said, voice oddly thick, “yeah, sure.” He leaned in without hesitation and scooped you up against his chest, wrapping his arms around you.

 

“Thanks.” You tucked your head under his jaw and hung your arms over his shoulders, hands on his neck. He was warm and solid, just like last time. “I felt safe here. It's crazy, but I did,” you whispered as you fingered the needle out of its hiding place.

 

He sighed then, just this great expanding and contracting of his chest that said without words he was so damn tired. “You were,” he said, stroking your back with his hand.

 

Tightening your arms, you pressed your face to his skin and closed your eyes. It wasn't such a bad way to die, if this didn't go as planned, all things considered. He had nice cologne on. “There was one other thing you were right about, Jack,” you said.

 

“Which?” He wondered, then went perfectly still as the needle jabbed into his skin.

 

“Winning is better.”

 

With an incredulous huff, his hands tightened on you, “you're in my hands. How exactly is this _winning_?” Killing you was just a squeeze away.

 

“Don't _fucking_ move,” you hissed into his neck, “I didn't catch all the scientific mumbo jumbo when they handed me this, but here's the gist of it: all that power you love? You're gonna lose it if you piss me off.”

 

“You're dead,” he growled, deep in his chest, but held still.

 

More confident now, you tilted your head and spoke into his ear. “You're going to tell me the name of every CEO and their summer home, and I swear on my life that my thumb wont slip and put you through hell.”

 

He swallowed, silence stretching between you until he started to chuckle. “You are going to try and kill them, Cutie?” His arms shook, trying to hold still and keep his cool, to not laugh his ass off. “Maybe I should let you.”

 

“I'll kill them all,” you growled, insulted, “ _tell me_.”

 

Practically giggling, he began to rattle off names and, to his credit, summer homes, in fits and starts.

 

“Good boy,” you purred, grinning toothily when he made a sound suggesting he did not like that one bit.

 

“Alright Cutie, pull it out. I did as you said, keep your word,” he said.

 

As if you'd ever be _that_ stupid. You thumbed down the plunger and said in the same breath, “I lied.”

 

An enormous snarl tore out of him and he flung you away with violent force.

 

Similar to when he kicked you, you were in his arms one moment and then flying through the air the next. Déjà vu. The wooden fence exploded against your back and you passed through it, crashing into the earth, rolling and bouncing like a rag doll until you caved in the dried ribs of a cow skeleton and landed with your back against its spine.

 

Dazed, you saw through the ribs the silhouette of Rollins yanking the needle out of his neck and chucking it to the ground, taking one furious step towards you and faltering. The next step he took brought him awful close but he gasped out loud, hand on his neck, and teetered on the spot before crashing down like a redwood. You felt the impact of his body through the ground as a cloud of dust rose up.

 

“Uh,” he groaned, “I'm going to rip your arms off, you rat-traitor-bitch!” He snarled vehemently into the dirt.

 

Panting, in no small amount of pain, you rolled to your front and crawled out of the skeleton, slowly rising to your feet as Jack spasmed on the dirt and let out an unearthly scream. His skin seemed to be wrinkling up as the body it was wrapped around rapidly lost mass. “I hope you turn into a raisin, you fucking Hydra scumbag,” you rasped, hobbling past him and not looking back. It was easier than you expected. How many of your comrades did he have to personally slaughter to get _rewarded for bravery_?

 

Good thing it was just him here, you mused as you collected your gear from inside the house and speed shuffled into the open quinjet. With a burner phone given to you by your AIM contact, you texted him while getting the ship ready to go. Jack's wild, feverish screams cut off abruptly when the ramp sealed shut.

 

_It worked_

_Got the quinjet_

_Send coords_

 

Your hands shook with adrenaline as you gripped the controls, forced to stand just like your last quinjet adventure. Everything was built for giants in this one. AIM was prompt in their response, giving you coords for a safe place to bring the quinjet. Their experts and equipment would not miss any trackers.

 

Once the ship was en route, autopilot doing its work, you sat in the vastly oversized pilot's chair. His warm, musky smell hit you like a gut punch and you bared your teeth at nothing, pulling your legs up and curling your arms around them. He did not deserve your pity, but there it was. You sat there, oscillating between silent crying and seething, second guessing everything up to the last second of the encounter.

 

“He was there to kill you and he damn well would have followed through with it,” you finally snapped at yourself verbally. Stabbing him with the needle and extracting information from him was just you bringing the odds infinitesimally in your favor. And it _worked._ The sharp pounding ache across your back and the hand print bruises reminded you well enough of that.

 

Exhaustion finally overpowering your nerves, you slipped into a restless sleep, the ship would alert you when it arrived.

 

When, several hours later, you were awakened by an insistent beep, you frowned and looked out at the expanse of a snowy mountaintop. The ship was approaching it slow and steady, making you suck in a breath and jump to your feet. You had the controls in your frantic hands when, like a mirage, the rocky wall you were about to crash into faded away.

 

When did your life become a sci fi movie? You wondered, hands slowly letting go of the controls and falling to your sides as a heavy steel gateway opened like a gaping maw into a dark abyss. This made things more complicated.

 

It wasn't just some backwater base that they didn't mind Hydra tracking, you realized as the ship landed in a massive hangar. Armed men approached quickly with what looked like techs trailing after them, carting along machinery. Probably to strip the bugs from the quinjet and repurpose it.

 

You lowered the ramp and leaned against the wall tiredly as guns were pointed at you. "Is this where you say thanks and shoot me?" You laughed.

 

"Come with us," the leader of the group called, gesturing impatiently.

 

"I need some medical attention, when there's time," you said, stumbling down the ramp and passing by the techs as they wheeled their carts up it.

 

They took you to interrogation, not that you were surprised. Every detail of the interaction was recorded, assessed, poked at. You weren't shy on sharing and got more than a few bewildered and disgusted looks when you called up the sexual side of the relationship between you and the STRIKE Alpha leader. You gave them a shrug in return.

 

Later, after you'd been grilled and grudgingly taken to a medical wing to be treated, then escorted to a simple but accommodating room, you laid in bed and wondered. Did he end up dead? It didn't matter either way, but you felt a fierce spark of pleasure at the thought of him abandoned by his company and comrades for being reduced to a normal man again. To be weak and lost.

 

Then you plotted.

 

At the heart of it, you were a scout. That was your job and what you were good at. As a result, most of this did not fall under your purview. But there were certain things that did translate well, you found.

 

Attention to detail. Observational skills. Body language. Memorization of information. AIM had allowed you to dwell in this compound after satellite confirmation that the deed was done, a degree of trust secured. They never told you if he was dead or not, but it didn't matter. You were in, and you needed to get your business done before that quinjet you brought could be filled with AIMs own tracking equipment.

 

It happened in the cafeteria, you saw the signs of discontent pass over the face of what you pinned to be as a lab worker of some sort. He looked at you and you swore you could see the light of hope in his bright eyes become smothered. You were a defunct rebel, a sign that there was no fighting back against the inevitable tide.

 

Maybe you were better at subterfuge than you gave yourself credit for, or maybe he was more desperate than you perceived, but it was all too easy to get into the lanky lab tech's good graces. A sympathetic ear and a good listener when he wanted to talk nerdy. Extremis was here and apparently he was just utterly fascinated by it.

 

Bingo.

 

Trying to be gentle about pushing your agenda on him, but extremely aware of your time crunch, you ended up letting slip a few old hopes and dreams from your rebel days, see how he felt about it.

 

He practically sang of his discontent, once he realized you still felt the same. He wanted amazing innovations like Extremis to help the little people, take away their pain and make even back breaking work easy, to make living easy. Only problem was, people who were administered Extremis had this really bad habit of exploding.

 

Your face scrunched at that. "That's kinda terrible," you admitted. Just one more risk you'd have to take, at least you were used to putting your ass over the fire.

 

It came together very organically, talk of discontent giving way to talk of action. You could be the instrument of his will, he realized, to take Extremis from the grips of AIM and give it to the world. He could use you the way AIM planned on using you against Hydra.

 

"There's enough here for a full year," he said, looking flushed and terrified as he passed a small briefcase to you in a camera blind spot. "If...If it works and you survive, never take more than the prescribed dose. Never," he repeated firmly. "I believe in you."

 

You nodded. "I won't let you down, I promise," you said. Taking Extremis was the only way to escape the base, the rest was to be used to partially wean yourself off of it, and then get samples to the right people out there in the world. Once what made it tick was out there, it would become a global product, AIM would stand no chance trying to regulate it. Too bad for him, that wasn't your plan.

 

Shooting up a foreign drug that might make you explode in a bathroom wasn't exactly the highest point of your career, you mused as you took a couple quick breaths to get pumped up, sleeve pulled up and arm held out. If this worked...if it worked, you could finally do something. Gritting your teeth, you plunged the cold needle into your vein and pushed the plunger down. Your world turned to fire a moment later, just as an alarm began to blare.

 

It worked. Like a biblical prophecy of blood and fire, you cut through the facility like a superheated knife. That was what you felt like, your veins filled with burning liquid that fought to escape through your skin, turning it bright like heated metal. You hadn't realized quite how literal it was until you carved the head off the last man standing between you and escape, the only other Extremis user on site, with your bare hand.

 

That bastard breathed _fire_ , but he did not anticipate you knowing exactly how to deal with him. His loss.

 

There was nobody knowledgeable enough left to close the massive gateway and no one was ready or willing to pursue you when there were fires to be put out and heads to count. It had been a bit of a trick to get the bird in the air without melting the controls in your adrenalized state, but you did manage. All the pain, aches from old wounds and the dulling of youth that you never even realized were there, was gone now.

 

You had secured the power, now it was time to put it to use. Pulling up information on the owner of AIM, you were very aware of your continued tight timetable. "Strike while the iron is hot," you said to the quietly thrumming ship, grinning.

 

There was a bit of irony in him actually being at his summer home, you mused after you burned through the panic room door and were standing there, listening to him offer you all the riches in the world while the bullet hole he shot in your chest healed, smoke drifting up from your shredded, burnt clothing. "Can you give me my home back?" You cut him off, voice soft.

 

"You can have a thousand of your home back! Just please, anything-" his sentence cut off with a piercing scream.

 

Tearing his jaw off and ripping his tongue out may have been excessive, but you were content as a cat when you flew away from the burning mansion on a private island in a restricted country. Yes, the leech deserved what you gave him and more.

 

AIM didn't report the death of their CEO for a full month. You killed two more top figures with little resistance before the news of someone hunting them down hit the air. Roxxon. Gothite Industries. You'd sit in your chair at night, quinjet hidden away safely, and eat MREs while watching the news.

 

It felt great to put the fear of God into these people who played at being gods themselves for far too long now. There was a moment when your steady stream of revenge-related thoughts slowed though, where you wondered at your own state. Where did you fit in the picture after the deed was done?

 

You'd eventually run out of Extremis and go back to being a normal person, but you'd still be target #1 to the world powers, even if some of the smaller players might thank you for clearing the way for their own shot at power. The infamy could help you recruit, bring the rebels back as a force again, the masses would be prone to suggestion when they saw what could be accomplished.  Even if you said the idea was based off of carrying on the legacy of Hawkeye and the former rebel leaders, the truth was that was the only option you saw in your future that protected you from a whole lot of torture and begging for death in a shady company basement somewhere.

 

Sighing slowly, your thoughts refocused on the present. There was one matter that you were regretting not dealing with immediately, before what you were doing was brought to the light. Alexander Pierce, head honcho of Hydra, was smiling and waving into the news camera, giving a speech about how he would not cower before some terrorist threat.

 

"Just you," you mumbled around your MRE mashed potatoes. All the other CEOs and no small amount of wealthy people in general had scattered to the figurative darkness like the roaches they were. Alexander Pierce was a trap.

 

And for all the power you'd stolen, you were still a coward.

 

Hammer industries was a significant step up in security, the formidable automated defenses in Justin Hammer's bunker promised to cut you into something resembling steaming, chunky beef soup if you got within range. A Hydra weapons cache, previously too deadly for the rebels, that you raided gave you exactly what you needed: EMP grenades. He begged too, just like the rest.

 

The red faded from your vision only when you strode out of that burning bunker, ass naked and glowing like a hot coal.

 

Three of the big four dealt with, you set your eyes on Pierce at last. What was he up to? You stared at his discolored, grinning image on the holo display, the dull, cool light filling the cockpit as your eyes lidded. "Moskow," you murmured, licking your lips.

 

At least you wouldn't be cold.

 


	27. Peace is a Dream 6 (Reader/Rumlow)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rebel War/Dystopia AU  
> RebelSoldier!Reader SuperSoldier!Rollins SuperSoldier!Rumlow  
> TAGS: Extreme injury, revenge, violence  
> Summary:  
> Reader heads for the last big target: Alexander Pierce in Russia. Sometimes things don't go the way you planned, even when you know the enemy is ready.

The problem with Russia, other than being a frozen, industrialized, dystopian nightmare, was that you only knew enough Russian to choppily greet someone and then fluently curse them out; courtesy of a surly and long since dead rebel, Mikhail. Finding a place to hide the quinjet within reasonable walking distance of getting into Moskow itself was a feat, and you anguished over hiding it between two abandoned buildings. The ship detected strong residue of a past chemical spill, probably the only reason why the buildings were left to wither away.

 

No money in tearing it down if you can't put anything over top of it.

 

The list of necessary things you couldn't accomplish because of the language barrier was uncomfortably long, in your opinion. No listening in on conversations, no local news, purchasing things would be a pain because you didn't have the proper currency and your only directions were the geographical map in the quinjet and eyeballing the general direction of the government sector in the distance while you were in flight.

 

So what could you do? You wondered, strapping your knife to the small of your back. Your clothing was far too light for this climate too, even if you weren't cold. Sticking out like a sore thumb was not how you wanted to go about this.

 

Get clothing sorted out, then get out there and observe, you decided. Pierce was well protected, his defenses would stretch out far beyond his initial location. Figuring out where they were and who they were was vital, especially since Hydra knew full well how to kill people treated with Extremis.

 

There was a time crunch – wasn't there always? - in that you had no idea how long he'd be visiting here, other than it was business related. Surely he'd be happy to go back to a warmer, safer climate and not have to breathe the same air as the dirty masses sooner than later. You grit your teeth as the fire in your veins reignited when you pushed down the plunger of the needle, minding the dose.

 

On your first excursion you realized touching cold things was a dead giveaway that something was off with you. Frozen shop handles steamed under your touch, snow melted and steamed away on your skin. You had mittens, a toque, heavy jacket, oversized track pants and bug-like aviator shades by the time you were done that day, having nicked all of the above with little to no trouble.

 

When you finally got to wandering the city, clocking a mind boggling amount of surveillance cameras and plain clothes police patrolling through the masses, you felt really overdressed. It was the tail end of winter, you thought it wasn't too outrageous, but there wasn't a toque to be seen throughout the entire day.  Crazy Russians.

 

Day 3 was the first day you saw a hint of Pierce's more personal defenses: a bio soldier standing like a looming sentinel, fully armed and in perfectly laundered fatigues, standing on a street corner and scanning for threats. You took a hard right a few streets down, not confident in the knife at your back and the gun on your thigh inside the loose pants, among other things.

 

From there you established the perimeter, an eight block radius of spaced out bios, with some regular soldier patrols inside the perimeter that you noticed at a glance. There were sniper nests on the rooftops too.

 

Sewers weren't an option, you lamented. Mikhail talked about them once. Sealed tight and pumped with carbon monoxide on the off chance anyone managed to get past the manholes. Kept the homeless population down, he explained with a disgusted sound. You weren't sure the Extremis protected you from that.

 

You needed a drink and you definitely knew how to say vodka in Russian.

 

Sitting at a table and quietly nursing your drink, listening to quiet conversations that you couldn't understand, you mused over your next moves. Government employees, the less rich ones, drove in and out of there every day at all hours of course, but that was the definition of flying in blind and there was no coming back from that move either. You'd either have a hostage that would alert authorities the second you were gone or a corpse and a missing government drone who'd be found quickly.

 

No, you sighed into the burning liquid, the best shot would be finding out Pierce's place of dwelling or when there would be something public going on, if anything. Wisdom said that this was a poor plan and that you had plenty of time to figure this out and catch him in better territory. You were nodding grimly to yourself when you heard the outer door swing open with a blast of cold air and two very heavy footsteps on wood.

 

Your shoulders tensed as the bar fell silent, the only sound being two more footfalls and one voice calling out in a commanding, even rasp, "ubiraysya."

 

Chairs screeched across the floor as everyone collectively stood up and left in a real hurry, so you took that as your cue to do the same and stood, keeping your eyes down as you slipped into the moving crowd.

 

"Not you, _Cutie,_ " he switched to English abruptly, calling you out.

 

Your feet glued to the floor, body going rigid as people passed you by and left you exposed, eyes rising until you saw your would-be attacker in full.

 

 _Shfuck!_ Your inner voice stumbled all over itself as you take in the visage of none other than Commander Rumlow glowering at you. Fully armed and dressed tactically but distinctly different than those under him, there were two thick black straps forming an X over his chest.

 

"You recognize me," he said, dark eyes glittering with malice, "good." The building barely accommodated his height, the short cut hair at the top of his head denting against the ceiling even with his head tilted forwards slightly.

 

You never wanted to have the opportunity to see if you were stronger than a bio, never mind _this_ one. They still had miles of reach in their legs and arms and several hundred pounds on you, that mattered a lot. Your mind raced as you shrugged out of your jacket and tugged your shades off, letting them fall to the floor in a pile at your feet.

 

Was there an emergency exit? Could you make it? Then go _where_? No, this conflict was happening, you thought grimly.

 

"Haven't brushed up on your Russian, huh?" He mocked, head tilting slightly but otherwise holding himself unnaturally still, like a tiger ready to pounce. "Citywide ban on face coverings in effect. Gave yourself away immediately."

 

Of course. "Z _hizn’ ebet meya,"_ you said, heavy on the sarcasm. Life is fucking me . Mikhail liked that one. Your hand shifted to grip the heavy round wooden table beside you, as if to steady yourself.

 

Rumlow laughed and grinned, shifting subtly as he did, signalling the situation was about to change.

 

With a clench of your fist and a snap of your arm, you sent the table flying at him like a frisbee, discarded drinks soaring everywhere, and pulled your handgun out of your pants, raising it at the enemy. Extremis had given you more than a little confidence when it came to firefights.

 

Launching forwards, he swatted the table aside with a lazy backhand, sending it crashing as he charged at you, a snarl contorting his features.

 

Your eyes widened as you pulled the trigger and he arrived. The impact of his fist in your chest shook your arm and as the gun fired, the sound blotting out all else, a small plume of blood erupted from his shoulder as the bullet tore through his shirt and grazed him. Then you were flat against the wall, body filling with fire from the trauma of the strike, and his hands were grasping you about the throat and thigh, lifting you up.

 

With a roar, he slammed you right back down to the floor and your senses winked out briefly. You opened your eyes to see him staring down at you through a body-sized hole in the wooden floor, 7 feet up. You wheezed as the Extremis regeneration uncaved your ribs and put your organs back in place, the pain dazzling.

 

"Still alive? Good. There were some requests, you know," he glared down at you before leaning back and stepping over the hole. He was looking for the entrance to the basement he threw you into, you realized.

 

Baring your teeth, you leaped to your feet and pulled out your knife. It was pitch black in the cellar and it smelled heavily of stored booze and dust. Not knowing where the door was yourself, you scuttled away from the light that was beaming down through the floor and into the dark, fumbling around until you were firmly hidden behind what you thought was a cask and a wooden crate of bottles. All the while you heard Rumlow stomping around like a mad bull, rapidly approaching.

 

While you tried to master the more offensive abilities Extremis users were capable of having, you hadn't been able to do more than just regenerate unless you were beyond angry. It was hard to be angry as the cellar door crashed open, falling to the floor in a mess of splinters, hard to do anything but fear as the most terrifying bio soldier alive stepped into the dark and fell silent.  Stalking you.

 

Your hand on the hilt of the knife shook and you clenched it tighter in response, trying to spot him in the dark. You could picture him in your mind's eye perfectly, crouched, every heavy muscle coiled tight, holding still and waiting for you to lose your nerve and move first, to give away your position. Your ears were ringing with how hard you were listening, but he gave away nothing.

 

He's wary, rightfully so, your mind supplied helpfully. True enough, if you were just a regular human being he would have torn through the room like a hurricane by now. You could kill him. I can kill him , you told yourself firmly before slinking further behind the barrels.

 

If you could get behind him, you'd see his silhouette by the light overhead and be able to confidently attack from there. Cut the bastard's head off and throw it into the streets for his master to find. That thought pleased you.

 

When, after you'd snuck to the end of the line, your cheek bumped into warm fabric, your eyes widened and you reacted without thought. With a primal bellow, you surged up from your crouched position and football tackled the offered leg. You realized your mistake a microsecond after it was done, your body passing through the fabric and crashing into another row of barrels that crumpled inwards from the force, drenching you with liquid and leaving you spluttering and flailing.

 

Rumlow barked a cruel laugh nearby as you threw kegs and shrieked, trying to ward off the unseen. He baited you, which meant that he could possibly see just fine.

 

Heart in your throat, you darted towards the doorway, needing desperately to withdraw and find a better position. Heavy footfalls followed. The second you were on the stairs, leaping three at a time, you realized why it took him extra to get down them: the staircase was very narrow and the ceiling at a sharp slant.

 

A quick glance over your shoulder revealed him shifting through the door frame and filling up the small space, so much so that you were afraid you were well within grabbing distance despite being half way up the stairs yourself.

 

But then again. You paused, knife ready, wine and booze dripping off of you and staining your skin, eyes darting all over as you calculated the scenario. There was no better place to fight him than right here and you weren't going to beat him in a foot race to any better places. It would be a surprise if there wasn't backup standing around outside too.

 

"Not a bad position," he said, licking his lips and eyeing you from his awkward angle. He still hadn't reached for his gun or knife, but Rumlow was known for what he did with his hands in particular.

 

"Not bad at all," you rasped, teeth bared as you braced your stance and held your knife ready. You had the height too, and that was worth something. Booze dripped down the stairs.

 

He eased forwards then, arms extended, hands open, jerking back and grinning when you stabbed at him for getting too close. "You nearly killed my second," he said.

 

"He underestimated me," you hissed, taking one step back and upwards, reluctantly relinquishing more space to him as he took one upwards.

 

The foot on the stair was all the lift he needed, though he could barely fit more than the tip of his boot on it. His legs jolted and he sprung upwards and forwards, clearing the stairs easily in his grab for you.

 

His arm blocked off yours, forcing your knife aside with his bulk as he raised his closed fist. With a snarl, you lunged back. If this was going to be your final moment, it would be said that you died fighting, if anyone cared. Lunging downwards, you slid past his fist and rammed yours into his solar plexus with all the might you could muster.

 

Breath shoved out of him in one great oof , his upper body flew back and slammed into the slanted wall before dropping to the stairs like a sack of potatoes. You turned and ran for it, not looking back. Whatever waited for you outside was going to be more manageable than this. A low growl from the stairwell made you run all the faster.

 

Bursting into the streets, you immediately saw the bar patrons lined up across the street, waiting for the bio to be done his business and to return to their drinking. But you didn't see anyone else, no backup. They were staring at you, some nudging one another and murmuring, you would be easily recognized like this.

 

You took two steps with the intent of running back towards your ship before the bar door smashed to pieces, Rumlow bursting out of it and closing the gap between you and him in two great leaps, tackling you straight to the ground. He was on your back as you snarled at one another, trying to get your hands around a leg to dislodge him while he tried to flip you over. He punched you in the head once and your skull bounced off the concrete like a ping pong ball, the sight in your left eye blinking out and a splatter of steaming blood hitting the cold ground.

 

People gasped.

 

Taking advantage of your temporary daze, he flipped you to your back and without any preamble, grasped your arm by the shoulder and ripped it clean off.

 

There were scattered screams then.

 

You stared, stunned, at your disconnected limb as he tossed it aside, swiping burning blood off his face with the back of his hand. In that moment, you were not conscious of the fact that it was going to come back, that it was already steaming and burning and rebuilding thanks to Extremis, it was so much more raw and visceral than just being shot or stabbed.  He was tearing you apart, literally.

 

It sounded like a chicken wing being pulled apart, crunchy and ripping.  You were in shock, mouth hanging open in a little "o".

 

"That was for Jack," he said, grinning like a beast, then grabbing you at the opposite shoulder, "and this is for me," another sick squelch and your remaining arm was tossed aside.

 

Armless, gasping for breath and steaming as your limbs began to reform, you met his gaze when he pulled out his pistol, leveled it at your forehead and pulled the trigger.

 


	28. Riptide Blues (Reader/Rumlow)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monstrous AU  
> Human!Reader, Cecaelia!Rumlow (Octopus man)  
> Tags: Assault, injury, kidnapping, body horror(kinda, he's the horror), noncon body modification(to reader)  
> Summary:  
> Reader is out on her kayak along the coast and gets into a pickle. Rumlow gets a treat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if this will be continued so here's the background for this one: Wanda (Scarlet Witch) discovers Commander Brock Rumlow and Strike Alpha are with HYDRA while at sea with them and curses them before being murdered. Unfortunately, when you turn people into monsters, it might just suit them better. Rumlow and co. no longer have a master to keep them in check.

You'd been paddling for a solid two hours, enjoying the sun mixing with the sea breeze on your skin, the contrast of bright green to your left and open ocean to your right. An angry gurgle from your stomach gave you pause, prompting you to take a break and pull out some lunch, it was about time anyway.

 

With a happy sigh you opened the compartment in your sea kayak above your legs and delicately pulled a sandwich out of a ziplock bag, your paddle resting across your stomach as you took your first bite and closed your eyes in bliss. Buying a cabin out here was the right move, no doubt about it. Keeping your eyes shut, you alternated between basking and eating, thinking about how much farther you'd go before turning back for the day.

 

As you popped the last bite into your mouth and gave your fingers an indulgent lick, you glanced up at the coast casually and did a double-take. The trees you could clearly make out the leaves of were nothing but a green line now, so incredibly far away. Crying out in alarm, you slammed the compartment shut in a hurry and began to paddle towards the shore with all haste and might.

 

Despite your best efforts, the shore grew farther and farther away while you grew more and more tired. "Fuck, fuck fuck!" You hissed and huffed, urging your now burning arms to work harder. You had no emergency tracker, nothing, this was just meant to be an easy kayak along the coast, as safe and easy as it gets. Now? Now panicked tears were building in your eyes as you considered the very real possibility of being lost at sea.

 

"Riptide pulled you out?" A rough voice said.

 

"Ye- _ah!_ " You exclaimed, turning sharply in your seat and staring, impossibly, at a topless man directly beside you. With short dark hair slicked to his head, he was grinning rakishly up at you. "What are you doing here?" You blurted intelligently, glancing around over his head for a boat you may have not seen in your panic. There was no such boat.

 

"I was in the neighborhood," he grinned broader then, giving you an obvious look over.

 

Disconcerted, you frowned and clutched your paddle tighter. "Well now we're both lost at sea, nice job?" Your face screwed up further when he tossed his head back and laughed at you, a strong sense of wrongness filling you with alarm.

 

"I'll be fine. You though? That remains to be seen." His grin turned sharklike, brows pinching together before he surged upwards at you.

 

A shrill scream escaped you as his heavy body collided with yours, rocking the kayak as thickly muscled arms wrapped around you. As he pulled you towards him and tugged your life jacket sharply, your eyes widened a half second before he opened his mouth and dove for your neck.

 

Pain flaring as this clearly deranged man bit your neck like a cheeseburger shocked you back to reality and encouraged you to fight. "Get off!" You shrieked as his teeth dug in, trying to squirm your arms out of his vice-like hold until you were bashing your head against his and biting back at him frantically.

 

After one hard wack of your head against his, he grunted and slipped away, gone inside the lap of a wave. Gasping and flailing, you nearly capsized yourself as you lifted your paddle and looked around, ready to stab at him if he dared to pop back up within range. Dimly, you felt burning pain radiating from your neck and realized you had to be bleeding.

 

Shaking and panting, confusion and panic warring inside you as you waited for your assailant to reappear to no avail. You only noticed the burning had spread into your lungs when drawing breath began to be difficult. With a trembling hand, you reached up and touched the bite, pulling your fingers back to see thick red blood.

 

Each breath you took became harder, heavier, and pulled in less air until you were wheezing and gasping, eyes wide as you asphyxiated on nothing. The paddle fell from your hands as you clutched at your throat and writhed in your seat until your vision faded and the world fell away.

 

Uncomfortable burning in your lungs and pain that throbbed in time to your heartbeat in your neck made you stir groggily. "Mmnh," you said, twitching to further wakefulness as you began to distantly register strange things, such as the feeling of floating and how your life jacket was pulling at you annoyingly.

 

You were underwater. Your eyes snapped open as realization dawned on you, beams of light filtered down around your capsized kayak and your hair floated around you. Was this your bodies last spasm before you died, you wondered? Your lungs were full of seawater.

 

"Ah, ah," a gruff voice said sharply as you felt the kayak be grabbed from behind, stopping your attempt to right yourself, your attacker drifting around to float in front of you as he spoke, "you don't want to do that, sleeping beauty."

 

You stared, frozen as he drifted by, at the knife on a belt around his waist and how it lead to not legs, but thick tentacles that stretched down out of your sight. A strangled noise escaped you as he reached down from the boat and plucked at the clips of your life jacket. His lower half was that of an octopus, dark red with black speckles, you noted dimly. "You're a mermaid," you said, dazed and shocked.

 

"Does that look like a fish tail to you?" He said wryly. "And I'm not a woman either, in case you missed that too." He brought both hands down now that you weren't trying to right the boat and popped the rest of your clips quickly.

 

He had the zipper pinched between his fingers before you recovered enough to resist. Grasping his wrist with both hands, you gaped at him. "Don't."

 

Pausing, he looked at you with dark eyes and a slow smirk. "What, you're going to get back up there and paddle back? Your paddle is long gone and you can't breathe air. This," he jerked at your life jacket and his casual strength worried you, "is just going to get you killed now."

 

It made sense, water was flowing through your sore lungs and you weren't dead, but it was too much to take in. You clung to his wrist while he undid the vest the rest of the way and didn't struggle when he tugged it off of you. "I want to go home," you said in a strangled voice, staring down at his tentacles as they undulated and shifted in the current.

 

"I'll take you home," he said, casting the life jacket aside and letting it float away.

 

"Please," you said as he helped ease you out of the kayak and set you the right way up, one hand on your shoulder and the other lightly gripping your bicep. You just needed to curl up in bed and sleep until you forgot this experience.

 

He shifted until he was behind you, so close that you felt his chest against your back shake with his chuckle. You shivered and pulled your legs up as slippery skin brushed against your bare legs. "Right away Miss," he said wryly, curling his arms around you.

 

The way he swam felt funny but he was fast, you realized as he tilted backwards and pulled you away from the kayak with increasing speed. His torso was still against your back but his lower half, all eight arms, would stretch out like an umbrella and then collapse inwards, creating a powerful thrust. You paid careful attention to not touch those arms, cringing each time one touched you.

 

It was getting harder to see in short order, and you realized he was pulling you downwards too. The surface of the water shone dimly above and all around was this never ending expanse of rapidly darkening sea. "Why did you bite me?" You said and his arms tightened around you, making your anxiety spike further. His bite was why you could breathe, there was no other explanation for that.

 

"Why?" He said, voice over the top of your head. How could you hear him, anyway? "So I could take you home."

 

A chill ran down your spine, your fingertips curling into the meat of his forearms. They felt like a cage. "Not my home," your voice fell.

 

"Mine," he admitted, still swimming and pulling you down all the while, farther away from any hope of help you had.

 

"Let me go," you said, trying to keep your cool and sound assertive, though you were rigid with fear. Spires of dark green kelp began to pass by, their slimy leaves tickling at you and further shrouding the light.

 

"No," he said simply. "Plus, I'm not the worst thing out here and you're bleeding, among other things."

 

His grip did not budge when you struggled, he didn't even acknowledge it until you let out a little cry and bit his arm as hard as you could. Without warning, he pulled away in an instant and you were left to flounder. Gasping, you kicked and swam upwards, all too aware that your arms were still desperately sore from your panicked paddling earlier.

 

"Too slow, pet," he said in a sing-song tone somewhere below you.

 

You shrieked when a tentacle grasped and wrapped around your ankle, tugging you firmly backwards into yet more grasping appendages that wriggled up your legs and held you tight with terrifying power. "No no no!" You cried as your arms were yanked down to your chest and sealed in place, staring up at the distant sunlight as you slowly sank back downwards.

 

"Get it all out now," he said, giving you a full body squeeze that labored your breathing, "because if you bite me again, you're not going to like what I do."

 

Straining to kick and fight, you were limited to shaking your head and jerking fitfully. Thicker than your thighs at the base, the appendages coiled around you felt rubbery and slightly warmer than the water, the suckers were hard bumps against your clothing and latched on to your bare skin. Heart hammering in your throat, you gasped when the tip of a tentacle dragged up your neck and tried to prod at your mouth, to which you tilted your head away as far as you could in response.

 

He chuckled, amused, and drew you in closer to watch while he held on to the stalk of a piece of kelp, keeping you both in place. "What's the matter, don't want to bite that? It's calamari," he said teasingly, chasing your mouth around with the extra limb and grinning all the while.

 

"Stop," you closed your eyes tightly and bared your teeth, considering the consequences of biting him, but he pulled back enough to grip your chin and hold it. The tip curled and uncurled, stroking at your cheek.

 

"There are no laws down here, you know," he said, licking his lips and pulling you in closer, "the strong take what they want from the weak."

 

"I'll kill you," you hissed, face pulled tight in disgust and anger as you tried to pry your arms free one more time.

 

He laughed at that, a short bark followed by a shake of his head. "You can't even handle my bottom half, sweetheart, never mind all of me," he said. He waited patiently then as you spent all your energy trying to escape and alternating between crying and spitting curses at him, moving only a time after you'd fallen silent and still.

 

You didn't resist as he transferred you back into his arms, defeated. Fighting him was out of the question, there would have to be another opportunity to escape later. He couldn't stay awake forever, could he? He must eat, too. Yes, you thought as the kelp flew by and your hair fluttered like a banner through the water, you would escape.

 

Doubts began to plague you as your eyes went from straining to see a few feet to simply nothing.

 


	29. Riptide Blues 2(Reader/Rumlow/Rollins)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monstrous AU  
> Human!Reader, Cecaelia!Rumlow (Octopus man)  
> Tags: Imprisonment, molestation, threats of violence and sexual assault, intimidation, terror, horror, grabby tentacles, nonconsenticles?, force feeding  
> Summary:  
> Reader is taken to the lair and given the special guest tour. Jack also makes himself known.

Your knowledge of the sea, what lived in it and general understanding of how it worked on a large scale were limited but you were certain you should have been long dead from the pressure of the depths you were being taken, if nothing else. "How am I alive?" You said, still limp and tired in his arms.

 

"Because I'm a nice guy," he said. "Nothing works the way you think it does, not here, not now," he added. How he could see was also a mystery.

 

The first change you noticed was the temperature, shifting from an uncomfortable cold that was seeping into your bones to the occasional draft of warmth. There was no difference between keeping your eyes opened or closed, but your surroundings were definitely changing in some way.

 

"Home sweet home," he confirmed as the cold was pushed away and comfortable warmth washed over the both of you.

 

His pace slowed noticeably and your legs were jostled by tentacles passing between and around them, making you cringe at the slippery feel. At one point he paused to scoop your legs up and bring you into a bridal carry, where you felt him duck forwards. Were you being taken into tunnels? Your stomach twisted, this was already a claustrophobic nightmare.

 

“Almost pure luck that we found this place,” he said as he leaned over you, squishing you into his chest, before straightening back out and zipping forwards once again, you could feel the water pressing against you every time he picked up speed. “Hidden, warm, nothing big can get in. Perfect.”

 

You latched on to the word _we_. There were more of him? The guttering flame of hope for an escape chance you had was quickly approaching snuffed before you even got the chance to try. “What are you going to do with me?” You finally asked after another period of silence.

 

“Eh, could use some company other than Jack's dumb ass,” he chuckled, “also interested in hearing about what's been going on these past few years. The wifi down here is not good.”

 

Your face heated at that and indignant anger bubbled in your chest. “You didn't have to attack and kidnap me for any of that.”

 

“Oh? I should have just brought you back to land and had a chat with you, huh?” He sounded amused, like you had said a particularly entertaining joke.

 

“Yes?” You muttered, then blinked. There was a cool greenish blue light ahead, haloing a rocky corner and casting a glow on the tunnel wall. A giddy sensation tingled through your skin, you thought that you might never see again.

 

“I already told you I take what I want, sweetheart,” he chided before stroking your thigh with his thumb pointedly, “and I definitely wanted some female company too.”

 

A shiver ran up your back but before you could think too deep on that statement you were propelled into a cavern that was so full of softly glowing flora that it was truly well lit. Coral covered every inch of the craggy surface with stubborn sea weed sticking up in patches here and there. Colorful fish weaved through it all and in the shadows under overhangs you saw other, less pleasant looking creatures hiding too.

 

But what really caught your eye, when you looked towards a nearby fish that was poking at something, was the bones. The fish was nibbling along the eye socket of a picked clean human skull, which lead your wide eyes to frantically run over the myriad of other bones scattered around, human and other alike. “Oh god,” you whispered in a choked tone.

 

He hung suspended there in the entrance, tentacles holding him in place and you in his arms, while you took in everything and had your little crisis. When you started squirming and trying to fight him off he gave you a sharp squeeze in warning. “I'm not going to eat you, knock it off,” he said before launching forwards and passing through the grotto.

 

“I can't live here!” You said, frantic as you squirmed in his arms despite the warnings, he was taking you out of the light again, a black hole looming below that you were drifting towards. “I'm not a pet! Please!” Desperate and unashamed, you begged and pleaded while he listened dispassionately and continued on his set course.

 

He laughed when you cried for help.

 

The room he carried you into had to be small, it was extra warm. You went rigid when he shoved you down against a sandy surface and pinned you with the bulk of his weight settled across your chest and stomach, tentacles flexing and stretching as they settled around you. Those things were pure muscle, you thought, perking in alarm when you heard the distinctive clinking of chains a second before your head was lifted and a collar clapped around your neck.

 

Giving your cheek a mocking pat, he sat there on top of you, a smothering weight. “Don't say a word. Did you think I forgot that you bit me?” His thumb pressed at your bottom lip and you shut your eyes tight. “I'm still being nice. This room has a hydrothermal vent, it will keep you warm. Piss me off and I'll find the deepest, darkest, coldest hole to shove you in. Lampreys like those. Do you like lampreys?” He chuckled at your full body shudder. “Didn't think so.”

 

As soon as he pulled away the reality of your situation set in. Alone in the dark at the bottom of the sea. Without thinking, you reached up and grasped at a tentacle before it pulled away. It was startlingly velvety, even as your fingers slipped on it. “Don't leave me,” you said, wide eyed.

 

Pausing, perhaps surprised that you touched him like that, it was impossible to tell without seeing his expression, the arm you grasped on to coiled and squeezed your hand before slipping away despite your grabbing. “You're going to sit here until I come back, maybe you should think about how nice you're going to be for me while I'm gone,” he said.

 

A warm rush of water and silence signaled his leaving. Holding rigidly still, your mind suddenly began to actively fill in the blackness with all kinds of horrors sitting there and staring at you, waiting to strike. You were trembling when the collar tugged at your neck, your body having floated up as far as it would allow, knocking you out of your downward spiral.

 

With a gasp, you grasped at the collar with both hands and began to frantically feel along the chain, trying to find its base. The collar itself was smooth around your neck, with no key hole that you could discern, the chain in your grasp weighty and every clink was as loud as an avalanche in your ears.

 

It was no use. As far as you could tell, the chain ended in a loop that was deeply embedded in the rocky wall and all you got was cut up hands and mounting frustration for your efforts. You were sitting there, chain looped over your shoulder to weigh you down, morose, when a flash of something caught your eye.

 

Squinting, you stared hard in its direction, blinking. There. A bright blue ring, followed by a collection of others, slowly shifted back into view. You clenched the chain nervously, chest tight, there was no way to know what this was.

 

They were hypnotic, all different sizes and stretching out like an umbrella before undulating and closing again. You stared, frozen, as they approached.

 

Wait. Like an umbrella. Your brows knit together as you took a more calculating look, connecting the dots. Yes, there were eight appendages wreathed in glowing blue rings that spread up until abruptly coming to a stop. It was another of the octopus men, maybe a woman, hard to tell.

 

Huddling against the wall, you crouched and shied back from the arrived stranger, the tentacles spreading out across the sandy floor and going mostly still. “Stay back,” you said with an unfortunate lack of conviction.

 

“Or?” An unfamiliar male voice, smooth and tinged with amusement, spoke. A line of blue rings slowly crept towards you through the sand, testing. They would have been pretty, were it not for this desperately fucked up situation.

 

“Unless you're here to get me the hell out of here, I swear I'll-” you faltered, grimacing.

 

“Didn't think so,” he sounded awful smug. Limbs moving snakelike, he closed the distance and struck viper fast.

 

You squealed and swung with your fists while jumping backwards, blind except for the rings lunging at you. Unfortunately you might as well have handed him your arms to wrap around and he did just that, tangling up your legs and squeezing them tight while holding your arms out. “Please,” you babbled, closing your eyes, not even sure what you were asking for or the point of it, just terrified beyond all reason.

 

He didn't answer for a time, only wound around you tighter until it felt like your whole body was completely covered and immobilized except for your head. “Did Brock say why he brought you here?” His tone was conversational, like this was perfectly normal.

 

So Brock was his name, unless there were more. “H-he said he wanted,” you paused when a particularly firm squeeze shoved the breath from your lungs before relaxing, “company and news and stuff,” you croaked.

 

“Company,” he chuckled at that, “and news and stuff. Interesting.”

 

A tentacle was coiling at the back of your head, tangling up your hair and forcing you to tilt your head back at a harsh angle, throat exposed. The collar dug into the back of your neck. “Don't hurt me,” you rasped.

 

The collar jerked unexpectedly, a finger hooked into it, and pressed hard enough against the raw wound on your neck that you gasped in pain while he held you in place and seemed to inspect you. “I see he marked you. Know what that means, princess?”

 

“I can breathe?” You offered after a confused pause. Your shoulders and arms were trembling from the tension and the unpleasant feel of suckers on bare skin. The only thing you could equate the feeling to was the bite of a leech, but with powerful suction instead of tiny teeth.

 

“Means you're his too,” he said patiently, adjusting your arms in his grip until they were stuck to your sides instead, over top of the thick tentacles roped around your body. “You're not going anywhere.”

 

“Jack,” a familiar voice called. Brock sounded pleased.

 

“Brock,” Jack said in return, letting go of your collar and flicking it, “I thought we agreed to lay low for a while?” There was a note of reproach in his tone, but it was lighthearted.

 

Brock's voice neared quickly. “She got caught in a riptide, that's a gimmie as far as I'm concerned.”

 

Jack hummed and you felt him shifting around, water billowing your hair out as Brock settled nearby. “No complaints here,” he said.

 

“Didn't think so. She was supposed to be thinking about how nice she was going to be while she was alone,” a note of warning slipped into Brock's tone, “she give you any trouble?”

 

“Nothing I can't deal with, looks like she gave you plenty though,” Jack said wryly. He must have saw the bite mark on Brock's arm, you thought.

 

A hand snatched out and grasped you by the chin, clamping your mouth shut and shaking your head as you mmphed into the palm. “The first and last time, if she's smart,” Brock said before letting your face go. “You checked the perimeter? Bring her, my hands are full.”

 

The tentacle in your hair untangled from it and grasped the chain at your collar while another grabbed the collar tight, wriggling against your neck and making you shudder. With a quick jerk the collar and chain were separated and you only knew for sure by the sound of the chain collapsing heavily to the sand. Was it magnetic? Your fingers itched to reach up and feel, but you were bound tight even as you were shifted into the unfamiliar arms of a large, muscular-feeling man. Jack was big, you realized.

 

“Yeah, caught sight of Martinez on the south side, too far off though,” Jack said as he began to move with you in hand, one arm across your chest and the other across your waist. He fell into an easy conversation with Brock while your mind raced and you tried to avoid touching the tentacles with your feet and legs.

 

The way they talked with vaguely familiar accents, Brock's knowledge about land, how they weren't really _alien_ other than the lovecraftian lower half. They were men. Actual men at some point. It didn't make any sense, but Brock wasn't wrong when he said nothing worked the way you thought it did. What happened?

 

You watched the glowing blue circles as they stretched out, appendages grasping at rocks and edges and propelling you and your captor forwards through the dark. They were talking about defenses, sightings, strategies. The people they were talking about sighting had very human names.

 

“Deal with it tomorrow,” Brock said finally, ending that line of conversation decisively. It seemed he was the leader of the pair. “I got it locked up for now, we can settle in and entertain our guest.”

 

Jack's chuckle was felt more than heard.

 

“You can't keep me like this,” you said, feeling desperate all over again when he acknowledged your existence, “I'll escape. Tell people about you.”

 

They both laughed at that.

 

“Got more than enough chain and rope to keep you tied up for the rest of your life,” Brock said, “but no need really. You can't see. There's tunnels down here with currents that will grab you and pull you into places I've never even been, never mind everything that can eat you. No, you'll die without us now.”

 

You swallowed, throat tight, while Jack gave your thigh a mocking pat.

 

“This one,” Brock said from somewhere ahead.

 

“Spoiling her, huh? Thought she pissed you off,” Jack said wryly.

 

“You know me,” Brock said between a grunt of effort and a grinding noise of stone on stone, “I'm benevolent like that.”

 

Light, so intense you had to close your eyes tightly, poured into the tunnel as Brock dislodged a boulder and shoved it aside. “Ah,” you hissed in discomfort, trying to squint to see as Jack began to move right away.

 

“How do you like it?” Brock said. A clunk and clatter signaled him dropping whatever objects he had in his hands.

 

Jack's arms and body pulled away abruptly, leaving you to flail for a second before your knees and hands landed on sand and stone. The boulder ground against the stone so loud that it rattled your skull before it locked into place again. Worried about what might befall you if you didn't answer quickly, you forced your eyes open and painfully took in the view. “Its.. Bright,” you said.

 

“Stolen Stark tech,” Brock thumbed over his shoulder, indicating the lines of lights stretched throughout the small cavern, “came in real handy. Probably wont ever die out.” Your immense relief must have shown on your face because he smirked broadly. “Be good and you get to stay in the light, sweetheart.”

 

You nodded, anything but the dark again, before realizing what he threw down was actually an angry pile of crabs and clams, the crabs were trying to untangle from one another and run away. One tumbled towards you and you sprang backwards, you'd never been pinched by a crab and didn't have any plans on starting either.

 

His lower half spreading out like a carpet, Brock grabbed up the crabs, suckers sticking to them tightly as he waved them around teasingly, grinning. “I sure hope you like seafood.” Their claws clicked.

 

“You expect me to eat it raw?” Your face screwed up at that, right until your free floating body bumped into Jack's and your whole body jolted in surprise. A stifled gasp escaped you when a bright yellow tentacle with intense blue rings wrapped around your ankle and kept you from swimming away.

 

“Nah, can use the vents to cook them,” Brock watched in amusement as you were quickly tangled up and spun around to face Jack.

 

Grasping a tentacle to try and keep it away from your face, you were momentarily distracted wrestling it like an ornery snake until you saw Jack. Broad and thickly muscled, he was larger than Brock as you had thought, and he looked far less friendly with the scar over his jaw and the intense look he was giving you.

 

“I know what I want to eat,” he said, voice low. Swiping his lips with his tongue, he reached forwards and grasped you by the front of your shirt, tugging you forwards. His other hand settled on your waist, palm spreading over your hip and fingers squeezing roughly.

 

Freezing solid, you stared up at him, wide eyed, as a tentacle slid between your legs and molded firmly against your sex. A choked whimper escaped you as a slow grin crept across his face.

 

In one quick jerk he pulled you up against his chest and pressed his jaw against yours, lips right beside your ear as he whispered. “I'm going to fill every hole you have at once and watch you choke. I wonder how much you can take?” The tip of the tentacle between your legs tapped against your clit.

 

“Ease up!” Brock called from somewhere behind you, Jack's eyes flicking past your head, annoyance flashing across his features for a second before he glanced back into your eye.

 

“Alright,” he said in a low tone, “for now.” Slowly, he pushed you backwards and let go, sending you floating away.

 

You hung there, still frozen, until your feet settled into the silt on the floor of the cavern. Jolting at the sensation, you blinked slowly and looked at your outstretched arms. Your skin was covered in circular sucker marks and your lip quivered at that.

 

Jack crept across the floor with his lower half in a mockery of walking, passing you by without a second glance. Free from molestation for the time being, you began to take in more details of your surroundings. The water was cool here to an uncomfortable degree but you wouldn't freeze, there were also a few spears and different kinds of knives resting against a flatter portion of wall.

 

Turning slowly, you looked into a wall of slowly waving kelp. Jack and Brock were in there somewhere and the kelp was thick enough that there was no light inside. You wouldn't touch it with a ten foot pole. But what else could you do? Your eyes slitted as you looked back towards the spears and knives.

 

No, bad idea, you decided. One look towards the size of the boulder that they shoved around with ease to block the door was all you needed to do to know how well that would work out for you. Not to mention you couldn't move the rock yourself even if you did miraculously fend off or kill two terrifying octopus men.

 

So you stood there, arms curled up to your chest for warmth, and waited.

 

The walls and ground of the cavern were black and equal parts smooth and rippled, like it was poured liquid that quickly dried. Volcanic, you thought, had to be. Was this entire place a sleeping undersea volcano? A chilling thought, if the goosebumps were any indication.

 

“Dinner time!” Brock called after an undetermined amount of time, swishing out of the kelp forest with a large cage held up by what appeared to be a pole with a hook at the end. You backed up on reflex as he approached uncomfortably fast, dropping the cage to the ground with a heavy clank. “Careful, needs to cool off a bit. Those hydrothermal vents get real hot.” He settled down on the opposite side of the cage from you, smirking.

 

You glanced from him to the cage warily. Inside were the remains of the clams and crabs, no longer click clacking and moving, just still and silent.

 

“They get up to something like 400 celcius and higher, if I remember right,” Brock reached up and scratched his stubble with a chuckle, “doesn't take long to cook anything at that temperature.”

 

A knot formed in your throat as you imagined the cave filling with lava and engulfing you, giving him a tiny nod in response as Jack burst out of the dark green wall and angled his way over.

 

Brock rubbed his hands together enthusiastically and tapped at the metal grate with a tentative tentacle tip. “Hot,” he hissed, but still flicked the cage open and jostled its contents out. “So, sweetheart, why don't you go ahead and tell us about what's been going on on land these past few years? You're not a crazy hermit, are you?”

 

Numbly, you accepted the large clam that he offered with a tentacle and grasped it in both your hands. “No, I travel a lot,” you said in a weak voice, glancing at Jack and looking away sharply when you realized he was looking back. The clam in your hands became extremely interesting.

 

“Well?” Jack said, looking equal parts murderous and bored as he grabbed a crab with a sucker and ripped it open with a loud crack.

 

Wincing at the unpleasant sound, you swallowed at your tight throat and tried to pry the clam open, it was only open the slightest bit. “A lot goes on. Is there maybe something more specific you want to know about?” Your arms trembled, exhaustion having set in long ago. God, you might not even be able to keep your eyes open, were it not for the very real fear of the two beings in front of you.

 

Jack was already digging chunks of crab out with his fingers and munching them down while Brock took one look at your tattered hands and hopped over the cage with a swish and fell upon you so quick you let out a shaky squeak and closed your eyes tight.

 

“Ask for help,” he purred into your ear, settling behind and around you. You clenched your legs together when one tentacle settled between them.

 

Teasing brushes against the back of your hands had you opening your eyes and slowly uncurling your death grip from the clam. “Please help,” you croaked. You weren't sure you could eat anything without blowing chunks – and who knew what that would look like underwater – but it was clearly what was expected of you and you desperately did not want to experience anything like what Jack said.

 

As soon as you asked, he grasped the clam on either side, suckers sticking to it tightly, and then pried it apart with a pop. Shifting the meat filled shell to his hand and letting the other sink, he pinched it between his fingers and held the piece up to your lips expectantly.

 

Please don't puke, you begged your stomach as you opened your mouth and let him feed you while he stared with an intense expression. As soon as it hit your tongue you relaxed, it didn't taste like much of anything. Rubbery and salty, still warm, just a clam. You chewed slowly as he grabbed a crab.

 

All the crunching, tearing and chewing noises were making your heart race. They could grab you like that crab and pull you apart, or shove you in that cage and cook you too. You let out a little whimper when he offered a big piece of crab leg, and he gave you a condescending pat on the shoulder.

 

“You are very tired,” Brock said, “once we're done eating we'll sleep, get some rest. Have our talk tomorrow.”

 

You nodded, but your mind raced as he hand fed you like a pet. Would he put you in the dark again? Were you to sleep near or with him? Your skin was covered in goosebumps by the time he decided you'd eaten enough and helped himself.

 

The answer came when your eyes were drooping uncontrollably. Jack gathered up all the crab and clam bits with seemingly expert precision and Brock tugged you upwards into a one armed embrace. “Time for sleep sweetie,” he said while carrying you towards the kelp, grinning into the side of your head, voice dropping to a whisper, “only one rule in my bed: no clothes allowed.”

 

* * *

 I made a Broctopus!  I do imagine his tentacles to be longer / thicker but it fit so well with that pose of his from the Point Blank movie!  Also, credit where it's due:  [This](https://pathfinderwiki.com/wiki/File:Cecaelia_woman.jpg) is the bottom half and an awesome picture on its own.  Might try and make a Jacktopus at some point too, we'll see.  xD


	30. Riptide Blues 3(Reader/Rumlow*)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monstrous AU  
> Human!Reader, Cecaelia!Rumlow (Octopus man)  
> Tags: RAPE, forced orgasm, vaguely freaky genitalia, sexual dreams, confusion, injury(mild), threats of assault, underwater nest weaving(..>.>), #octopusfacts  
> Summary:  
> Reader dreams a little happy dream, until it isn't one anymore.

 

“I'll sleep outside,” you said tightly, gripping at his arm as your lungs squeezed at the thought of laying anywhere with this man...thing, naked. “I'm not taking my clothes off.”

 

He paused then, a few feet from the dark wall. The kelp waved gently from the draft he brought. “I thought we discussed this, how you were going to be good, hmm?” His tone had gone soft and low.

 

You bit your bottom lip to keep it from quivering as his arm tightened around you. “Some things are not worth it,” you muttered around your teeth, eyes slitting and shoulders rounding as you prepared for retaliation.

 

A fist tangled in your hair and gave you a hard yank, causing you to inhale sharply. “You think you have a choice still, that's a problem,” he growled in your ear.

 

When you felt his tentacles grasping tightly at your shirt from all sides, you kicked your legs out and scratched at his arm.

 

The fabric ripped easily and he took his time, ignoring your kicking and scratching and only tearing harder and more savagely in response. “There is only one way: my way,” a piece of shirt flew by, “and there's only two ways you get to have my way,” his arm slipped up around your neck and pinned you tightly in place while he began the same treatment to your pants, “nice or not nice.”

 

You caught a tentacle between your legs and tried to hold it in place, squeezing tight and desperate, but the rest just grabbed a hold, wriggled between your skin and the fabric, and ripped.

 

“Gave you a chance,” he said, giving your ear a stinging bite, “not nice it is.”

 

Violent and fast, your legs winced away from the bruising force while you tried to pry his arm off without success. “No, no!” You cried as he exposed you.

 

With a quick jerk he shoved you outwards, holding you by your hair. All you had left were your undergarments. “Take them off,” he said.

 

Covering your chest with your arms and curling your legs up, you floated there and closed your eyes tight, like he wasn't right there.

 

He shook you lightly. “Take them off,” warning slipping into his tone.

 

You weren't going to comply, even then, until a hard slap against your leg made you jump and yowl in pain. He'd clubbed you with a tentacle and your thigh throbbed in response. Letting out a despairing cry, you reached back for the clip to your bra.

 

Shoulders shuddering with suppressed sobs, you pulled off the garment and a tentacle caught it before it floated away, then grasped your underwear and tugged it off fast, just wanting the humiliation over with. These too were grabbed.

 

“Better,” he purred, fanning a hand over your ass and rubbing it fondly. You didn't dare cringe away. His hand curled around to your quickly bruising thigh, “don't test me again,” thick fingers dug into your skin hard and made you suck in a sharp breath.

 

Pulling you back in close and curling both arms around you, he pressed forwards again. Grimacing at the feel of the slimy kelp all over your body, you struggled to hold still and not cry in earnest. When he slowed to a stop again you opened your eyes and were dismayed at the near total darkness, everything was cast in a low, dark green light, poor enough that it hurt to try and focus.

 

What you did see gave you pause. A large semi-sphere with a hole in it, the diameter you couldn't quite discern, not that large though. Was the object made out of the kelp? It seemed to be the same color. You didn't get more time to think about it before he lurched forwards and shoved you right in.

 

Not putting up any resistance, you slid directly through the opening and shivered at the slimy feel as it touched your legs. Yes, it was kelp. Your back collided with more and you cringed away, but everywhere you felt was just more of it. A brush of your fingers over little seams and bumps let you discern that it was woven together. He made it, this was his bed?

 

A moment later and he was creeping in, you could feel the slimy, squishy tentacles pouring in and around you like a sickening wave. You curled right up into a ball in response, all too aware of your nudity. His torso settled in behind you and dread made your chest tighten.

 

His two halves were completely different in feel, you noted in a detached way as he pried you out of your defensive curl and forced you to lay flush against him, tucked under his arm and head on his shoulder. Warm and tightly muscled, his top half was not comfortable to press against while his bottom half was cooler, wriggled and pulsed in a way that made your skin crawl and was that strange combination of squishy-slimy-velvety.

 

“Mmm,” he said, adjusting his position to get more comfortable while settling his arms around you, fingertips stroking along the dip in your spine, “warm and soft.” His appendages loosened and filtered around your legs, not grasping but engulfing and keeping in direct contact.

 

His belt pressed uncomfortably into your side, but you were more focused on trying not to have a breakdown as he directed your arm to lay across his chest.

 

“Your heart is beating so fast,” he remarked in an amused tone, fingertips playing between your back and your hair, “what do you think I'm going to do?”

 

“Anything you want and there's nothing I can do,” you said, voice resigned. All the fighting, the fear and even the paddling earlier had left you feeling like a husk. You weren't sure if you could do anything other than pass out if he decided to attack you right now, like how Jack said he wanted to. You shivered.

 

“Sounds like you're finally getting it. But tonight you can sleep,” he said, patting your back. He leaned back himself and you felt his body relax, tightly packed muscles loosening as he let out a low sigh.

 

There was the knife on his belt, your traitorous mind noted. He never took it off and he was daring to sleep like this. That said it all in your opinion, it was a bad idea, just like the spears were. No, your hands were staying curled at your side and laying on his.

 

Despite all your stress and anxiety, your eyes drifted shut soon after Brock relaxed. His heart beat in your ears and the slow rise and fall of his chest were the siren call of sleep. Your eyes drooped shut.

 

You were warm all over and pulsing with pleasure in time to your heartbeat. Someone was treating you right, squeezing your ass and grinding you against something hot. But the situation was getting desperate, why wasn't he doing more?

 

“Who're you dreaming about, hmm?” A husky voice purred.

 

“Please,” you whispered, grasping at him and flexing your hips forwards, trying to tempt him to action.

 

“Who takes care of this little pussy?” His voice dropped in response to your eager hips, a rumble that made you moan.

 

Oh, dirty talk, delicious. You writhed, grasping handfuls of hard body and needing more, you tried to grasp at the cock that was rubbing up against your stomach but he chuckled and pulled your hands away, back to his chest, sides and arms.

 

“Is it your husband, hmm?” He teased, grasping your thighs and spreading them. “Boyfriend? Fuck buddy?”

 

Husband? No, your brows furrowed. That was a little weird. Your hands twitched against his solid biceps. His hands were on your ass, not your thighs, what was going on?

 

“Don't worry, you have me now,” he said, bouncing you lightly with his own hips, cock sliding between your folds.

 

With a gasp, you opened your eyes to the dark and froze, face going up in flames as reality woke you up like a bucket of ice water.

 

“I was going to leave you alone, you know,” Brock said, fingers and tentacles digging into your bare skin. “Imagine my surprise when you woke me up, moaning and begging.”

 

You huffed and gasped, swallowed and tried again to form words, shocked at yourself. “I-”

 

His hips rocked again, cock prodding at your stomach and reminding you it was there. Where _that_ came from was anyone's guess, you certainly couldn't see. “Now I'll help you out and you'll help me out,” he said, pulling your hips and legs upwards to make room.

 

“No, please,” you croaked as he lined himself up with your entrance, trying to pull away with your legs but being held still.

 

“Was going to fuck you anyway,” he muttered, rubbing and prodding at your hole, savoring the feeling. “What do you think I'd keep you for?”

 

He began to stretch you open and you quieted, stilled, closing your eyes and trying to ignore the pain and pleasure of it. The dream had gotten you horribly wound up and how easily he was sliding inside was mortifying, how did this even happen? As he groaned and rocked his hips to work himself deeper in small increments you realized that his cock, shaped as a normal cock as far as you could tell, was actually slick on its own.

 

“Oh god,” you whispered, all the possible consequences of this situation becoming clear to you.

 

“I prefer Brock,” he said with a hiss that turned into a deep grunt as he hilted himself inside you. “Fuck, I'm keeping you,” his hands slid up to cup your breasts and play with them while winding his spare appendages around your stomach and thighs, starting to bounce you in place easily. “I'm keeping you.”

 

Your hands grasped his wrists, grip sliding thanks to the water, and hung on as best you could. “I don't want to get pregnant,” you sobbed.

 

“Lucky you,” he pinched your nipples, “I was snipped before all this.” Snapping his hips upwards as he tugged you down, he hit a spot inside you that made you spasm and go rigid. “Oh! Is that your spot, baby? You just grabbed my cock like a vice,” his voice was ragged.

 

Before you could recover and respond, not that you knew what to say to that, he began to repeat the motion and stole your breath away. Tension spread from your core through your thighs and stomach, freezing your lungs and paralyzing you as he pounded your cunt until your eyesight whited out and your mouth hung open in a silent scream.

 

He had slipped out of you and was pressing his cock insistently at your mouth before the white even faded from your vision. As you gasped shakily he seized the moment and filled your mouth with his slick, throbbing cock. “Don't bite,” he warned in a throaty voice, hands winding through your hair, “finish me.”

 

You made a strangled sound. The taste was partly you, salt water, him and a slimy texture that sorely tried your gag reflex when it touched your tongue. Hips rocking, he bumped your nose with his pelvis until it stung, all while you closed your eyes tight and tried to push off tentacles that were grabbing at you.

 

“Good girl,” he cooed, squeezing the back of your neck as he came with a primal grunt.

 

There was a small blessing in that your mouth was already full of water, though you spluttered the second he pulled free from you anyways, releasing all of his spend.

 

A quiet laugh escaped him as he shoved you down and away, enveloping you with clingy limbs until you were wrapped up like a burrito and he was lounging back into his original sleeping position, boneless and satiated.

 

“Get your goddamn tentacles off me,” you spat, furious.

 

“Arms,” he said in a lazy, pleased tone.

 

“What?” You frowned heavily.

 

“They aren't tentacles, they are arms.  Octopus have six arms and two legs, now go to sleep,” he said, giving your head a condescending pat with an _arm_.

 

Wind effectively stolen from your sails, your lip quivered and you relaxed as best you could, closing your eyes and trying to ignore the twin throb of the large bruise on your thigh and your now-tender privates. The suckers of the arms were soft, springy nodules and when they weren't grasping you tightly they made a strangely good bed, though you missed the warmth of his upper half.

 

Not that you wanted to be near any part of him, but it was harder to sleep when you were cold. You fell asleep with the taste of him stuck to your tongue.

 

 


	31. Riptide Blues 4(Reader/Rumlow/Rollins)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monstrous AU  
> Human!Reader, Cecaelia!Rumlow (Octopus man)  
> Tags: Graphic murder, graphic injury, horror, BEHOLD as I violate every timeline I touch  
> Summary:  
> Day 2. Reader tries to keep it together with mixed results.

You woke slowly, sore and cold and alone in the dark. Rubbing a hand over your face, you tried to come to terms with the fact this wasn't just some sick nightmare, that everything that transpired was in fact reality. With your other hand you reached out and felt, trying to ensure you were actually alone.

 

What you found surprised you, your fingertips tangling up in familiar fabric. Your underwear. Heartened, you felt out with more vigor and found your bra too. Feeling marginally better once you frantically put them on, afraid someone was going to reach out and punish you for it, you curled up there and alternated between fingering the bite on your neck and the collar around it.

 

There was no sounds to speak of, and with your well-adjusted eyes you could make out the outline of the hole to the kelp forest you came through. Were you expected to sit there alone until collected? Even if you were...this was an opportunity to have a look around, maybe.

 

If your body would cooperate. Soreness radiated through seemingly every muscle as you stretched out and gingerly slid through the entrance, grimacing when you collided with the kelp. Trying to keep your cool, you began to feel through it and hopefully make your way to the lights fixed to the chamber walls.

 

Tears were leaking out of your eyes and immediately disbursing in the water, you knew, emotion was creeping up on you in the quiet. Too much time to think about what had happened, what was going on and what might happen. At least the green light was brightening, you were going in the right direction, grabbing handfuls of kelp and pulling yourself along.

 

Waiting around for the other shoe to drop wasn't going to help you at all in the long run, you thought as you squinted up at a brightly glowing light. The wire had to lead to somewhere. If you wanted to ever escape, you had to have light.

 

Maybe you couldn't do anything with it right now, but if you found something useful the information could be used later. You sprung upwards and grasped the wire, pulling yourself along and hissing when you accidentally directly bumped a light with your bare legs. The light exposed all your bruises and marks, you paid special care to not look at them, you couldn't handle it right now.

 

Your nerves buzzed when you finally passed beyond the small kelp forest and into a wider part of the chamber that you had yet to see. It stretched out far enough that the light failed to expose all of it, but you did see the jagged-looking rock that jutted upwards and was spewing water that was so hot it was visible. That must have been the spot Brock cooked the shellfish and certainly why this portion of the chamber felt warmer.

 

Swallowing at the lump in your throat, you cautiously continued to follow the line. No sight of Brock or Jack yet. When the line dipped upwards at an angle and no longer had any lights along it, you paused. It was dark up there, but you could follow the line and be okay...provided there weren't any horrors in the dark.

 

Not allowing yourself time to mull it over and change your mind, you scrabbled upwards with nervous energy and clung tightly to the line as you went. It would be easy to let it go and lose all sense of direction, that would be terrifying. After perhaps two minutes of steady nervous climbing, you paused when your hand reached up and grasped the next few feet of wire above you. It felt different.

 

Blinking, you tentatively scraped your hand against the stone wall and rubbed your fingertips together. Moisture heavy grime clung to your skin and just to be sure of what you were feeling, you pulled yourself up. When your head half pulled out of the water, eyes blinking and scrunching at the sting of cold air, you felt a little electric thrill.

 

It couldn't be a passage to the surface, you didn't think. This place was deep. But, after a moment of draining water out of your ears, you did hear a distinct humming that seemed to come from all directions, bouncing off the walls in a disorienting manner.

 

It stood to reason, with the cable coming up here, that the generator might be here. Not that you wanted to mess with _that_ , but there could be other stuff too. Not being able to breathe air was an issue though.

 

After a long, nervous pause, you sucked in a deep breath, grasped the edges of the ledge, and pulled yourself up with a splash that was deafening in the cave. Every muscle in your body protested at suddenly being beholden to gravity again and you barely managed to scrabble your whole body up. Pressed for time, you crawled forwards and felt around, perking when your hands bumped noisily into some kind of plastic box.

 

Your lungs were already getting uncomfortable and the water leaking out of your mouth and nose was a uniquely discomforting experience, you felt along the box until you found two latches. It was a case of some sort, not a box. Opening them with twin clacks, you flipped open the case and tentatively delved in with a hand.

 

Squishy foam, a row of small bumps, something hard, cold and rectangular and-oh. Your fingertips froze on the muzzle of a pistol. Bullets, a clip and a gun.

 

After a quick interlude of dunking your head back into the water and breathing for a few seconds, you tried to fumblingly bring the weapon together while cursing your lack of knowledge about guns. The clip felt like it had bullets in it, you thought, and it seemed to lock in place in the pistol with a metallic clack.

 

Fearful of being caught, you put the pistol back in its place and closed the case. Knowing the weapon was there and ready to be used steadied your nerves a little, but you weren't ready to go looking for what else might be stashed up here yet. Not when you really didn't know where Brock or Jack were.

 

Your chest loosened considerably when you found your way back to the lights. Until you heard the scream. A high pitched, keening wail that cut off raggedly and made your hair stand on end and muscles seize in fear.

 

Hanging there, frozen, you strained to listen as your heart hammered in your ears. You thought you faintly heard some more strangled screams, but it was hard to tell. Was it Jack or Brock screaming? Someone else? Could they be fighting and losing against someone? A someone who might help?

 

The idea that there might be help nearby jump started you back to life. Kicking off the wall, you swam as hard as you could back into the open chamber, looking frantically for the confrontation. Nothing on this side of the kelp, you had to go through it. Clenching your teeth, you kept close to the light but low to the floor, trying to be as stealthy as you could.

 

Dull thuds and grunts punctuated by agonized sounds almost scared you off, but you ended up crouched in the kelp and watching a most disturbing scene, one hand over your mouth.

 

Brock was there, extra arms tangled around an unfamiliar man and holding him tightly in place, a fist poised to strike an already battered-looking face. White octopus limbs with brown bands hung and spread out limply beneath them, strangely still. “Where's the base, Hernandez?” Brock said in an even tone.

 

“Hail Hydra,” the man, Hernandez, rasped through a mouth of busted teeth. Strings of bloody saliva drifted up from his face.

 

Hydra? Oh God, you thought.

 

“Fuck Hydra,” Brock snarled. He roughly gripped Hernandez by the jaw with his hand as he grasped the base of one of his limp tentacles with two of his own.

 

“No, no!” Hernandez tried to struggle then, his torso jerking and head twitching right before a sickening snap made him scream sharply.

 

Your stomach churned as Brock dropped the severed limb, blood disbursing from the stump in a small reddish cloud as it fell to the chamber floor like a dead snake. You saw then why Hernandez' lower half wasn't moving in the first place: there was a knife sticking out of his spine, just above where the human skin changed to animal.

 

“You still got 9 more limbs I can rip off, Hernandez, you really up for that? Think they'd do that for you?” Brock shook the hyperventilating man a little.

 

Hernandez' jaw worked, saying something too garbled to understand.

 

“What? Your teeth getting in the way? Speak up or I'll fix that,” Brock said.

 

“Boat,” Hernandez said, his eyes drifting shut, “the boat.”

 

“The fucking boat?” Brock said incredulously.

 

Were they talking about Hydra from DC? You wondered, watching the exchange in the way one watches a car crash in motion. That would be...bad.

 

“They've been trying to pull water out of the comm room, fix it up and contact Hydra. They have the Maximoff girls body,” Hernandez said thickly.

 

The boulder was moved aside, a yawning black hole that you stared into while listening. So they belonged to the nazi organization that Captain America defeated in DC and what, Brock was their leader before they were turned into octopus men somehow? Your racing thoughts could be summed up with a simple _fuck_.

 

“Idiots,” Brock hissed, jostling Hernandez again. “You think Hydra is going to fix you? They are going to put you on a table, cut you up and figure out how you work if you're lucky.”

 

“You sure as fuck ain't gonna fix us,” Hernandez snapped back, “you're the reason why this happened!”

 

“Pierce, who's dick you are still stuck on somehow, was the one who ordered us on that boat!” Brock shouted, overflowing with ire before he visibly restrained himself. Veins bulged out from his skin. “Doesn't matter,” his voice dropped to a murmur.

 

Hernandez quieted, staring up at Brock. He visibly paled in those silent moments, seeing something that you didn't in his former leader's eye. “No,” he said, shaking his head.

 

You were so busy staring at Brock, eyes wide, you didn't notice one of his arms coiling around the hilt of the blade in Hernandez' spine and his limbs pulling back until you heard ripping and snapping punctuated by a shrill scream.

 

Gasping into your hand, you looked away sharply, curling up and shaking. Brock ripped the knife up the mans back and slit his throat in one freakishly fast motion, passing the knife into his open hand and sheathing it on his belt.

 

A few moments passed before you heard the boulder rumbling, being moved back in to place. You only had a second to register the tickling of slick arms brushing against your sides before you were grabbed by the back of your collar. Squealing in surprise, your legs kicked off the ground and tried to launch you away, but Jack held you fast.

 

Falling still from your fright, you pressed your hand tighter over your mouth and nose, other arm curling defensively at your front as Jack languidly strolled out of the kelp with you in hand and extended outwards. “Here she is,” he chimed as you tried very hard to look anywhere but the corpse or Brock, who was now looking at you with a shark-like expression.

 

“And where were you?” Brock said, head tilting slightly, lips a tight line and eyes dark.

 

“I was looking around,” you whispered, gaze drawn down to the collapsed form of Hernandez, it was impossible to not look. You swore you could taste blood in your mouth and greened a little at the thought.

 

“Trying to escape,” Brock corrected, sneering. He flicked the corpse disdainfully with a limb.

 

Shaking your head before he even finished his sentence, you stuttered, “no. I know I can't escape. I didn't think you'd mind- you left me alone.” Jack shoved you down to your feet so hard your knees buckled and you stumbled slightly, a strangled noise escaping you as the suckers of the severed octopus arm stuck to the bottom of your foot.

 

“She reacted when you mentioned Hydra,” Jack mused.

 

That caught Brock's attention. His gaze sharpened and he began to creep towards you with the slow gait of a predator about to pounce on the prey. “What do you know about Hydra?” He said.

 

“Uh,” you said, trying to inch backwards into Jack while flicking your foot constantly, trying to unstick the suckers and not just babble incoherently, “I know them from school and the-” you flailed and panted a little when Brock got closer, almost sending you into a mindless flight response, “the DC thing!”

 

“What about DC?” Jack said, tugging the tentacle off your foot in irritation. The suckers made popping noises as they were pried off.

 

Closing your eyes, you grasped the collar around your neck in both hands and croaked, “2014, Project Insight, Captain America stopped it and some big spy agency was revealed, Shield? It was all over the news.” The words tumbled out of you.

 

“Huh,” Brock said, very close to you, “fuckin' Cap. Maybe this isn't the worst thing that could've happened to us.” His thumb pressed to your lip and rubbed along it.

 

Jack grunted at that. “You manage to forget what your legs splitting apart and bones falling out felt like?”

 

“No,” Brock frowned.

 

“What happened to you?” You muttered around Brock's thumb, wishing dearly to keep the topic away from where you were, despite the revelation of you now being in the hands of apparently former - or current?- nazi octopus men. That and what Jack just said sounded like something out of a horror movie.

 

“Don't think I don't see you trying to change the topic,” Brock said wryly, letting your lip go and patting your cheek as you cracked open your eyes.

 

You swallowed nervously as Brock scratched at his scruff, giving you a thoughtful look. “We worked with Cap in Shield. Shield was Hydra. We were given a mission to take an enhanced individual out to sea and kill her, she was too big a threat,” he said.

 

“Understatement,” Jack muttered, planting a hand on your shoulder.

 

“Right,” Brock said, “she caught wind of what was happening. Bitch could read minds too apparently. Managed to curse our whole goddamn team before I put a bullet in her head.”

 

A curse. Very biblical, you thought. Considering they were apparently traitors and murderers, and that was before you got to what they had done to you so far, you couldn't manage to drudge up any pity.

 

“We stuck together at first, still a team. I was Commander of Strike Alpha and Jack my second in command. Didn't take long for those jackasses to point the finger at me though, got bloody quick,” Brock mused.

 

“Managed to run them out of here after their failed coup but they know where we are and we didn't know, until just now, where they were holed up. Sometimes they come, try and figure out where we've stashed shit, steal the lights, murder us, so on.”

 

He described the situation so matter-of-factly, you had to wonder at the kind of life a person needed to lead to remain calm and in control after all of this. The casual murdering and the fact he was apparently some kind of secret death squadron leader made you very glad you didn't try killing him in his sleep or stabbing him with a spear too.

 

“Now you know, you're welcome,” Brock's fingertips traced along the edges of your bra, “now tell me where you were.”

 

“Just followed the lights,” your lips quivered. God, what would he do to you if he knew you touched that gun? “Didn't go far when they stopped. Can we-” you gulped, “please get away from the dead guy?” The shock of Hernandez' murder was wearing off and you felt more than a little ready to get hysterical. You couldn't even handle losing your pet dog, never mind looking at the mangled corpse of a man.

 

Brock's eyes flicked a glance towards the body for a moment before fixing back on you. “Sure,” he said.

 

The fact that he agreed so readily made you nervous. You caught on when Jack slid an arm around you and Brock carelessly grabbed an arm of the corpse and went to move the boulder back out of the way. Soon you were being carried along in the dark tunnels to who-knew-where.

 

“I think you have a poor grasp on what kind of things live down here and what can happen to little girls who wander off,” Brock said from somewhere ahead. They were taking you back to the grotto, you realized, when its familiar light appeared high above.

 

 


	32. Riptide Blues 5(Reader/Rollins* /Rumlow)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monstrous AU  
> Human!Reader, Cecaelia!Rumlow (Octopus man) + Cecaelia!Rollins  
> Tags: RAPE, being chased/hunted, attempted murder, assault, injury, sadism, force feeding(sorta), manipulative affection  
> Summary:  
> Reader faces Jack alone.

Instead of going all the way up to the grotto, Brock came to float before another dark passageway. There was enough light that you could see in a limited fashion as he turned his head to look at you and Jack as you stopped nearby. You glanced at the hole nervously.

 

Without prompting, Brock held the corpse of Hernandez out by its neck, wiggling it like some kind of demented snack.

 

When the biggest eel you had ever seen came into view and snapped up the corpse by its bottom half, you squealed and jumped back into Jack. “Holy shit!” You gaped as it pulled its meal back into its hidey hole, a disturbing crunch noise following soon after.

 

Jack laughed, squeezing you in his arms as you tried to wrap around him backwards.

 

“What, you don't like Cerberus?” Brock tilted his head and looked back at you, eyes shrouded and lips pulled into a wide grin.

 

“Not at all,” you muttered, eyes drawn back to the space that eel – Cerberus, really? - had occupied. Was it even physically possible for them to grow that big, or was this some kind of haven for freaky cursed beings?

 

“Good, there are worse things down here than him and us,” Brock said before tipping forwards and heading back down.

 

You were quiet along the way, wondering if he suspected you of getting into that little air-filled cave. If he checked, would it be easy to tell? You couldn't put the box you found exactly where it originally was, it was a worry.

 

Your anxious train of thoughts took a sharp turn in another direction when Jack's hand cupped between your legs at one point, massaging and teasing. When Brock pulled away from the entrance to the illuminated cavern you looked towards him pleadingly, knowing full well there was no mercy in either of them but Jack scared you more.

 

“Back later,” Brock said before giving you a knowing smirk, turning and disappearing beyond sight in one swift movement.

 

Gulping and flailing a little when Jack shoved you through the entrance, you swam away and looked over your shoulder at him warily while he moved the boulder back in place. As silence fell, he looked up with an expression that sent a finger of dread down your spine. “Run if you want,” he said in a deadpan tone, a malicious grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

 

The unspoken _I'm going to get you either way_ hung there between you until you jerked to life and bolted...unfortunately slowly, as you were half flailing, half bouncing off the ground. Jack's boisterous laughter faded when you crashed into the kelp and your chest constricted as you thought he was giving chase now.

 

Could you make it to the gun? What would you use it for, if not to defend yourself like this? Oh god, you just weren't sure. You were still torn over it as you launched out the other side of the kelp and swam towards the lights at a frenetic pace, apparently your legs knew what you really wanted to do.

 

You were going to end up like Hernandez, ripped up and tossed to eelzilla as an afterthought, and you weren't even going to make it to the fucking gun because your legs were barely working. Grasping the cable, you pulled yourself along it as fast as you could manage, tossing panicked glances over your shoulder all the while. He could easily be there, lurking just out of sight, letting your panic grow in intensity until satisfied.

 

Focusing so hard on feeling the sensation of air hitting your hands, the dark didn't phase you at all.

 

“I knew you were lying,” Jack said from somewhere below, so soft you barely heard it over your hammering heart.

 

With a strangled noise, you felt the cold air hit your fingers, took a deep breath and kicked off the wall. Half crashing into the ledge and half launching on to it, you flailed and rolled up, scrabbling for the box while half-deafening yourself with splashing sounds.

 

Your wet hands caught a hold of the box and jerked it towards your body, fumbling with the latches and flipping the lid open as you heard another wet splash. Clasping the gun as water from Jack sloshed over you, you rolled to your back and closed your eyes, making a soundless scream as you raised the gun and pulled the trigger.

 

Weight crashed over you so heavily water sprayed out of your mouth as your lungs were squished, several hundred pounds of man and animal landing on you in a moment. The gun never went off, even though you squeezed the trigger with all your might. One hand seized your wrist and the other grabbed and twisted the gun out of your grasp with ease.  All you could see with your wide eyes were the blue rings on you, above you and all around.

 

Lungs burning, you lashed out with your free hand and shoved against his body with seemingly no effect. You began to gasp and splutter as the gun clacked audibly and Jack snorted. “Not loaded. Safety still on. Even if you weren't incompetent, you'd be deaf firing this in here. Not to mention firing _with your eyes closed_ ,” he said, the box clunking and scraping against the stone as he shoved it away.

 

Water. You needed water. Grasping and shoving at his lower half, every thick limb you pushed aside replaced by another as he shifted around, amused by your struggle. Choked gasps filled the cave.

 

White spots filled your vision as your limbs became leaden, losing the oxygen needed to move. A hand closed around your throat. “I told you what I was going to do to you,” Jack said.

 

A sensation of weightlessness fell over you, a vague feeling of being moved, right before your head was violently dunked back under water and held there. Gasping desperately, you took in great lungfuls of water as you tried to make sense of what was going on. An octopus arm was wrapped around your throat and keeping you pinned in place, unable to go further into the water or backwards at all.

 

He'd shifted his weight off of you but you felt his slippery limbs all over your legs and sides, touching and sticking. A hand collided with your ass sharply and you shouted, jolting at the pain and suddenly remembering what he said. With your hands grasping at the ledge, you tried with all your might to move while he tugged your underwear down with one hand and gripped your hip harshly with the other.

 

A low wail escaped you when his slick cock rubbed between your ass cheeks. You couldn't hear him, only yourself, blood pounding in your ears and the distant sound of your hands scrabbling against the stone. A cool, slick touch against your lips made you grimace and clamp your mouth shut, even as he slid his cock down between your folds and began to press into you.

 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you made a miserable noise before yelping at another harsh slap on the ass, the tentacle poking at your lips insistently at the same time. The message was clear: open up. You shook your head and he began to slap you steadily, each one jarring your body and helping him slide a little deeper inside you.

 

After the fifth slap, your ass burned and the pain was zinging up your spine, your mouth opened in an agonized gasp and the tentacle slipped right in. He gave your stinging cheek a pat while forcing your mouth open wide. You gagged and struggled anew, it was like having a huge slug crawling towards the back of your throat.

 

Your hands slipped off the edge and grasped at the limb invading your mouth, trying to pull it back while he began to thrust into you viciously, weakening your effort. You sucked in a deep breath just before he blocked your airway, making you swallow at his adventuring limb while he railed you from behind without mercy.

 

Time faded as you were reduced to breathing when he allowed, not half as often as you needed, and the pain of his invasion became a full body throb synced to his thrusts. When your limbs and body went slack in acceptance, he coiled around you further and held you aloft, fucking you steadily until you could feel his cock jerking inside you and a rush of warmth as his fingertips twitched hard into your bruised skin.

 

You gasped weakly when he pulled free of your mouth, a sucker tugging your tongue uncomfortably until it let go with a pop. A shiver ran through you when you realized he was still hard, even as his cum slid down the inside of your thighs. Like a puppet with cut strings, you didn't resist when he pulled you up out of the water and pressed your back to his chest, rocking his hips and stroking his cock between your thighs.

 

He didn't seem interested in talking, not like Brock's steady stream of dirty talk anyway. His hands played with your breasts, still in the bra, and slid over your stomach while your face reddened from holding your breath. Just radiating this grim silence that was only broken by his wet limbs moving and the slickness between your legs.

 

“How big a punishment do you think lying and trying to kill me is?” He said, mouth close to your ear.

 

Starting to cough, you wriggled in response, too exhausted and hurt to really fight anymore, impending oxygen starvation or no.

 

With a snarl, he launched you out of his arms and into the water with a splash. You barely moved when he came in after you, just floating there in a haze. Barely a moment passed before he wrapped around you and plunged inside again, thrusting rapidly, like he was expressing his anger purely through fucking you.

 

The cycle repeated. He'd finish, paw at you for a time, carry you a ways and then start all over again. Your lack of response seemed to excite and invigorate him, you couldn't imagine him getting hard so many times for anything less, but he fucked you harder and became rougher any time you tried to struggle. There was no winning.

 

“Thank me,” he hissed raggedly, pulling your hair until your head was tilted back at a harsh angle.

 

“Th-thank-” you croaked, unable to finish when he redoubled his efforts.

 

Barely conscious by the time the distant glow of light filled your eyes, you sensed yourself being discarded when you reached the main chamber with him, left to settle to the cold, silty floor. Neither willing nor capable of dealing with anything right now, your eyes closed and you drifted off.

 

“You ripped her panties,” someone said accusingly close by.

 

“Tough,” came the response and an irate huff in response to that.

 

“Your turn to find some food,” the first voice, Brock, you realized, said.

 

Jack grunted and you cracked open your sore eyes to blearily watch him retreat out of sight while Brock hung in your peripheral, arms crossed and looking down on you.

 

Your mouth formed the word for _sorry_ but nothing came out, you'd strained your vocal chords to near silence. Deflating, you resumed laying there and closed your eyes. Whatever he decided to do, he would do.

 

Grimacing when a hand looped under your arm and pulled you up, you barely registered the brief stinging sensation in the meat of your shoulder until you felt a tingling, burning fire that passed through your body and lingered in your lungs. Confused, you turned your head and watched as Brock pulled his mouth back from your skin, two very snakelike fangs sliding out of your flesh and disappearing into his gums.

 

Dark eyes locking with yours as they widened into saucers, he smirked. “Just giving you your daily injection, sweetie. Seems Jack covered the other one,” he snorted then, slipping you into a bridal carry and taking you in an unfamiliar direction.

 

When you heard the hissing of the vent, felt the heat at an uncomfortable level on your back, you curled your fingers at this chest. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” you babbled, voice cracking and squeaking.

 

“Relax,” he chided, lowering into a parody of a sit. “You got some balls lying to me and trying to shoot Jack. I think you realize now that he likes that,” he chuckled, “probably misses the post mission high and all the fucking that came after. Adrenaline junkie.”

 

You deflated, arms pulling back to your chest. Anything but punishment and anything but Jack, you thought. A little rebellious piece of your brain pointed out that you had to be bitten, apparently every day, in order to remain breathing under water. Information for a later date.

 

If only you didn't go for the gun. Your chest tightened at the thought of it. An impulsive decision that probably cost you an opportunity and resulted in Jack being an even bigger monster than you thought he would be.

 

Slowly, he lowered you from his human arms and you landed on his animal ones. The thin membrane of skin between each arm felt cool and smooth against your sore back and ass as he held you like a strange, fleshy hammock. “Probably have to find something to keep you occupied,” he mused, crossing his arms and watching you as you dozed, your body overtaxed and trying to heal the endless bruises spread across it.

 

“Occupied on something other than escape that is,” he chuckled.

 

Warmth seeped through his gently rocking lower half and suffused you, providing some small relief. With your head propped up, you saw in the dim light the true extent of your injuries. It was grim, a wonder that nothing was broken. Gingerly, you touched at a large hand print on the front and side if your stomach.

 

More arms curled around you until you were neatly wrapped up and surrounded by soft, velvety heat. You could even forgive the suckers. Your brows furrowed at the feeling of fondness that bloomed in your chest, was that the first makings of stockholm syndrome? It's not like you'd ever felt the need to read up on it.

 

Even wary and tense, you were still lulled into a state of half napping. The pain inside you wouldn't let you sleep either way and you feared what damage Jack had done there. Would it make sense to ingratiate yourself with Brock in hopes of him protecting you from his partner? You strongly doubted it, but being punished continually by both wasn't a nice thought either.

 

He seemed content to just sit there in silence until Jack came back. You jumped a little when he arrived in your peripheral with a truly massive fish tangled up in his front limbs, your heart racing when he pulled the knife on his belt and killed it with a meaty crunch.

 

“Nice one,” Brock sounded impressed as Jack lowered the no longer struggling fish and began to clean it with a swift efficiency that made you feel a little ill.

 

“You get the sticks,” Jack said, not looking up from his work.

 

As Brock unfurled from around you, you realized you were about to be left alone with Jack again and ended up blushing furiously as you clung to an arm with all the panicked strength you could muster while they both laughed at you.

 

“Stay pet, won't be long,” Brock said, prying you off with a chuckle.

 

Landing on your knees, you winced at the minor jolt and all the pain it brought. Your lungs felt frozen in your chest and you held very still, listening to the rhythmic _shink shink_ of his knife.

 

“Turn around,” he said, his voice low and filling you with dread.

 

Reluctant but not so foolish as to refuse, you painstakingly turned around and watched him. The guts and head were already discarded, a few sneaky fish you'd never noticed before approaching to nibble on the offerings while he laid out thick strips of meat and began to make large cubes, glancing up at you occasionally to make sure you had complied.

 

He wanted to see the fear in your eyes and the pain in your stance, you thought dully, like a real sadist. Thankfully Brock whisked back into view before Jack finished and could think about terrorizing you further. Turned out the sticks were the spears you'd noticed before and you barely managed to catch a hold of the shaft Brock swiftly shoved at you.

 

It was a good thing you never tried to grab a spear and stab either of them, because you let out a pained moan as the weight of the weapon made you double over before you compensated and stiffly stood up, feet firmly on the floor thanks to the extra weight. Brock was already placing meat cubes on his spear and yours with his dexterous limbs.

 

With 5 cubes shoved on your spear, you had no idea how you could possibly eat anything, let alone 5, he landed beside you and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Hold it near the vent for about 10 seconds and give it a while to cool off,” he said.

 

You were about to ask where he was going but you fell short at his serious expression and the sharp jerk of a thumb over his shoulder that he directed to Jack, who quirked a brow and silently followed him. When he passed by, an octopus limb slapped your ass and made you gasp in pain.

 

Shaking, you shuffled forwards, spear in both hands, and tried to do as you were told for your own sake. The two men had begun to exchange words in lowered voices as they moved away, you only caught the word _boat_ before it was just you and the hissing of the vent.

 

There was barely enough strength in your arms to hold the spear out and up for 10 seconds and you ended up on your knees beside the spear after dropping it with a clatter, doubled over in pain and shoulders shaking with dry sobs when they returned.

 

“I think she learned her lesson, don't you, Jack?” Brock sounded amused as he gathered you up again and held up your spear, tapping at the cooked meat until satisfied it wouldn't burn his fingers. He pulled you up his body and held you bridal style with his octopus arms while he manipulated the spear and meat with his human hands, while also holding out his own spear and cooking.

 

“Maybe,” Jack said, eyeing the exchange before cooking his own meal in silence.

 

“I can't,” you tilted your head away from the meat he was offering, pinched between his fingertips, “please,” you begged weakly, voice cracking, “I can't.”

 

With a put upon sigh, he handed the spear off to another limb and tugged his knife free, to which you closed your eyes tightly in response, but no pain came. “Eat half of it,” he said firmly, placing it at your lips once more, “you know, people pay the big bucks for this stuff on land.”

 

Resigned to it, you opened your sore mouth and let him place it on your tongue, his thumb stroking your cheek as you closed your mouth and mechanically forced yourself to chew. It didn't taste bad, even with no spices, it was rich and heavy, but your stomach roiled and the act of chewing hurt. You swallowed it and hung there, morose. “Can I save it for later?” You rasped.

 

His chuckle vibrated against your back. “In what? The fish will eat it,” he waved at the gathering of colorful and bland fish that was enthusiastically eating the leavings. “Just eat slow,” he said while tapping at the now-cooked meat on the tip of his spear.

 

“Okay,” you said, staring at your food blankly.

 

When Brock pulled you back to his nest that night - you refused to think of it as a bed, it was a nest and he was a monster - you realized something.  "You didn't have to bite me as hard as you did, the first time," you said, touching the two puncture holes on your shoulder with your middle and index finger.  It was a far cry from the deep, ragged human teeth marks he gouged into you initially.

 

"No," he nibbled at the back of your ear, his stubble making you shiver, "but I wanted to."


End file.
